Forced Alliance
by usa123
Summary: Six months after the Civil War, Tony and Bucky are abducted during a mission. Still at odds, they are going to have to rely on each other to get home alive. Meanwhile, Steve and Rhodey must set aside their differences to search for their missing friends. Whump abounds. Civil War compliant but is friendly to both sides. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: It's worth reiterating that this fic will be friendly to both _Civil War_ "teams". Steve is not perfect, neither is Tony. You will get different perceptions of the battle and its fallout from the different points of view throughout the story. Chapter One starts with Tony's POV for plot purposes. That doesn't mean I only agree with him or that I'm anti-Steve. They both made their fair share of mistakes in the _Civil War_ and will be working through them over the course of this fic.**

 **[If you don't want to read me setting the stage, which involves some rehash of the _Civil War_ and its fallout, then you can skip ahead to the first bit of dialogue.]**

 **A/N 2: This fic would not be possible without four wonderful people: you-cant-just-import-answer (Tumblr) and MoparGirl1 (Fanfiction) who were wonderful sounding boards throughout the writing process, and Mellia Bee (Fanfiction) and merryrf (Tumblr) who graciously beta read the final product and far exceeded my expectations with the depth of their comments and suggestions. This fic wouldn't be the same without any of their time and efforts. (I did fiddle with it before I posted so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

Tony Stark's life had been a certified mess for a long time now. A well-intentioned, certified mess to be sure, but a mess nonetheless. It'd started with Ultron, which he designed to protect the world, not ruin it; then there'd been the whole Mandarin incident (though most of that wasn't his fault); and finally what was now dubbed the Superhero Civil War.

Since Tony was arguably the best known Avenger, he was receiving the full brunt of the fallout. The Tower was being graffitied almost every day of the week; his employees were being harassed; rocks were thrown through the front window; and he himself was constantly badgered by the media about the massive amount of destruction he'd done, how he pushed away Captain America, and on and on. Everything he'd done over the last decade was now plastered on the news, with people scrutinizing each and every action for a hint of wrongdoing, of something that hadn't gone to plan.

Sure there were a few supporters, but they were far outnumbered by the people who were ready to see Iron Man stand trial for his actions. The same people would like to see Steve stand trial too, but considering he was hiding in God-knows-where, the public's frustration with Captain America was being taken out on Tony as well.

Tony forced himself not to react to any of it. He didn't engage with the press anytime he was seen out in public, and pushed his way through the crowds (as politely as possible) to his destination.

He almost could have handled it, if he'd have had a little bit of support. But he and Pepper were on their stupid break, so he was going at it alone—by design really. She'd come back after Siberia, willing to be a shoulder to lean on, but he'd pushed her away. There was no reason for both of them to go down for his mistakes. She was around more than she used to be but their interactions were all business: managing the company, his public image, his press conferences, and the restoration efforts.

He had _just_ started to move past all of it, to find his new normal, when the freakin' Accords reared their ugly head again.

It had been contemptible for Ross to present them to the team with only four days before they were going to be ratified. It wasn't enough time for anyone to read them fully, even his high-paid team of lawyers; Steve was the only one Tony knew that had actually gotten pretty close. Tony himself wasn't happy with a lot of things about the document, but it was good enough that he was willing to sign it, knowing he'd work on amending the questionable parts later. Steve had almost signed too, which would have eliminated their entire feud… but then Tony'd opened his mouth and mentioned Wanda—just another thing he'd been trying to fix that had ended up making things much worse.

To his credit, when he'd seen just how bad things had gotten, he'd tried to help. Unfortunately, that was exactly what Zemo had counted on.

No one besides the Avengers knew what had really happened in Siberia. All the public knew was that Leipzig airport had been trashed and that the man who had blown up the UN had been secured in Siberia. The exact details were kept confidential.

"Stark!"

Tony jolted upright in his seat and quickly refocused on Thaddeus Ross who had been in the process of explaining the new Avengers protocol. "Are you with us?" the General demanded, his eyes as hard as steel.

Not trusting himself to keep back a smart comment, Tony just nodded.

"Good," Ross said before he turned back to the board. "Now, after a mission—"

He was interrupted by a loud ringing. Ross scowled then reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "What?" Then his expression sobered. "They'll be there."

"Who will be where?" Tony asked, straightening up ever so slightly.

"The Avengers… or what's left of them," Ross replied, his tone sharp and biting. "Northern Manhattan is under attack from a very well-trained militia group. They call themselves the New Order. They've been on our radar for a while, mostly for small things: protests, disorderly conduct and the like. Never anything of this sort. NYPD is on the scene but they're requesting back-up to keep the group away from President Ellis."

"What's the President doing in Manhattan?"

Ross' expression soured and he looked seconds away from citing 'classified information'.

"It's tactical information," Tony retorted, barely keeping his tone level.

Ross considered this for a long moment before unhappily responding. "Ellis attended a supposedly-secret meeting with the heads of many of our major security agencies. Because of the nature of the individuals involved, the panel is officially authorizing an Avengers presence."

"Don't you have to ask the rest of the panel?"

Ross shook his head, his eyes gleaming. "In a matter of National Security where time is of the essence, each panel member is granted the ability to make the call on their own. I'm making this call. Go to Manhattan, protect the president and any other high-ranking official, and make as little mess as possible. We need some good publicity."

A lead weight settled in Tony's stomach at Ross' words. It was exactly what Steve had predicted would happen if the details hadn't been ironed out before the Accords were ratified.

But he didn't have time to worry about that now. He, Rhodey and Vision needed to help protect the president.

* * *

The secret meeting had taken place in the second-to-last storefront of a strip mall that had seen better days. The street on the far side of the strip mall was blocked off, thanks to ongoing construction for a new parking garage, which meant there was only one valid point of entry; it was probably one of the key reasons this clandestine location had been chosen in the first place.

The remainder of the Avengers immediately planted themselves at the open intersection to keep any of the New Orders from getting into the side street, while the various agency heads tried to secure transport to safety.

Ross hadn't been kidding when he said the New Order was extremely well-trained. What he'd failed to mention was how well-armed they were too. The militia group was using some sort of modified alien tech, which was mowing down hordes of officers in mere seconds. The General had also left out just how many New Order members there were, and how they kept charging the strip mall despite the numbers that were falling in the process.

There were a myriad of small explosions going off around the strip mall, keeping the reserves of LEOs busy, while the on-duty officers planted themselves along the main street. Tony, Rhodey and Vision had just spread themselves along the crosswalk, taking out any assailant that made it through the police formation, when a familiar voice crackled over their comms—a voice that was supposed to be in another country.

"Incoming, Stark."

"What the hell, Rogers?" Tony spat as he turned in the direction FRIDAY indicated on his HUD and stunned a New Order member who was exiting another store in the recently evacuated strip mall.

"We're here to help," Steve continued as if Tony hadn't spoken.

Tony's stomach dropped into the vicinity of his knees. "We who?"

"Clint, Sam, Natasha…" Steve paused for a brief second and Tony's breath caught in his throat.

"And Barnes," he stated, his mouth as dry as the Sahara.

"And Bucky," Steve confirmed softly. Then his tone hardened back into what Tony once referred to as his 'Captain America' voice. "We're just here to help."

"How the hell did you get here?" Tony spun around and took out another approaching man with the swing of his left arm.

"We were in the neighborhood."

"Bullshit."

"Can we talk about this later?" Clint interrupted. "Preferably when we're not taking heavy fire from alien weapons?"

"Switch to private frequency," Tony instructed FRIDAY, who moved Rhodey and Vision over as well. "What's our play?"

"I don't think we have a choice," Rhodey said before he unleashed a mighty yell. "I'm fine," he was quick to say, before Tony could question.

"I concur with Colonel Rhodes," Vision chimed in. "My calculations reveal the amount of collateral damage greatly decreases with the assistance of the other Avengers."

Tony scowled then switched back to the public comms. "Spread out and defend the strip mall," he ordered. "But keep Barnes away from me!" Tony was more than willing to work with Steve and the rest of his crew if it meant protecting the president and proving that they could once again work together, private opinions be damned. But Barnes was too much. Even though, deep down, Tony knew that Barnes hadn't been in his right mind when he'd killed his parents, he couldn't help but assign him some of the blame: Tony was only human after all.

Steve didn't respond to the last part but, as he was giving orders to his team, Tony noted he did put Barnes by Rhodes, who was as far away from Tony as possible.

The defending continued uneventfully with the nearly complete Avengers squad slowly and surely gaining ground, pushing the New Orders farther away from their intended target.

Sometime later, Barton danced in front of Tony, firing arrow after arrow at a burly man in a full tac suit, who had what looked like a giant repulsor strapped to his chest. Barton didn't say a word to Tony, which was probably fair; they hadn't exactly left things on the best of terms.

But then Barton took out a goon who was approaching from Tony's left before he could get his gauntlet up, so maybe things weren't that far lost. The archer didn't even unleash a snappy comment before racing back toward the building where the agency heads were hiding, his quiver exchanged for a pair of guns.

Tony couldn't spare Barton much more thought since the man wearing the repulsor still hadn't gone down. Tony forced the new arrivals out of his mind and focused on the more critical threat.

After two quick blasts from Iron Man's repulsors, the man was tilting backward. Unfortunately, in the process of falling, he'd managed to trigger his replica unibeam. Thankfully it shot straight in the air, instead of at any intended target, but the real damage came in the following seconds, when the power dropped out of Tony's suit.

"FRIDAY?" Tony asked, cautiously, hopefully, as a metal vice tightened around his chest. His breathing quickened when he heard no response.

 _It's just an EMP. The suit will restart, you'll be fine,_ he tried to remind himself, with little to no effect.

His fingers twitched toward the manual override but he stopped himself at the last second. At least in the metal suit he was protected from the fight going on around him. His thin undersuit was unfortunately not bullet- nor alien-weapon-proof. So Tony stood there, in a rather awkward position—his hips turned right to make himself as small a target as possible, but his torso twisted back front, in order to utilize both repulsors—until the suit rebooted.

The villains must have realized something was wrong for a bunch of small fire began to rain down on the suit. The rounds didn't do much damage, but were painful to absorb all the same.

Wincing with each contact, Tony forced himself to count the time passing in "Mississippi's" to slow down his breathing, which wasn't really working with the bullets pelting the exterior of the suit. The worst EMP had only taken FRIDAY out for four minutes and twenty-two seconds; he just needed to hang on for that long.

Two minutes and fifty-four seconds after the suit had lost power, Tony heard thundering footfalls and a lot of screaming, followed by the number of oncoming bullets decreasing to none. Not long after that, someone came to a stop in front of his suit and Tony braced himself, not knowing if it was a friend or foe.

"Stark?" he heard Barnes growl and his heart stopped beating.

"Get the hell away from me!" Tony shouted, his voice growing from a shocked whisper to a roar as he regained his senses.

"I'm not gonna hurt you!" Barnes hollered, his own tone angry for some reason, but thankfully, Tony heard him take a few steps back.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Tony demanded as he once again took stock of his situation. He was unarmed, unable to defend himself, and his armor was structurally damaged from the hail of bullets. Unless he got FRIDAY up and running again, he was functionally useless against any oncoming attack from the Soldier. His breathing quickened and the Iron Man suit seemed to shrink two or three sizes. He was now keenly aware of just how close the metal was to his skin and how much air he had left before he'd be forced to trigger the manual override.

"Steve saw your suit go down. Sent me over."

"Get… away… from… me," Tony panted, his chest heaving with the effort of bringing oxygen into his lungs. He leaned forward slightly, his forehead clunking against the faceplate of the suit, and squeezed his eyes closed as he fought back the impending panic attack.

"I'm away, okay?" Barnes shouted.

There was a brief scuffle and a scream—feminine, definitely not Barnes, but not Natasha either.

"I told you this was a bad idea, Steve," Barnes seethed as a gun went off and someone else collapsed to the ground, swearing up a blue streak.

In the shock of hearing Barnes, Tony had lost count of how long it had been since the EMP triggered. All he knew was that if he didn't get any air soon, he was going to pass out.

He took as big a breath as he could manage then gasped, "Send… Rhodes."

Thankfully, he heard Barnes relay the message over the comms without argument.

"He's on his way," Barnes reported before a spray of gunfire punctured the air outside the Iron Man suit. The sound sent adrenaline rushing through Tony's system, allowing him to catch the tiniest of breaths. More importantly, it allowed his brain to realize the sounds were heading away from him, and not about to contact his already damaged suit.

"He says to tell you he called another one."

Inside the suit, Tony just nodded before he resorted to tapping his forehead against the faceplate to regain some sort of rhythm.

Then, he heard a loud shout and Barnes swore. A split second later, something crashed into the front of the suit and Tony was airborne, flying backwards on no will of his own.

"What the—" was all he managed before a cacophonous explosion filled his ears and he was whipped in the other direction so quickly his head collided with the back of his suit.

He hardly registered the crash landing until his side exploded in agony so sharp it stole away all his senses.

* * *

The next thing Tony knew was pain—lots and lots of pain. So intense he could hardly breathe.

His instinct was to curl up to alleviate it and he tried to do so, but a steady pressure against his shoulder stopped him.

"Don't," a low voice said—Barnes. That realization only made Tony fight harder against whatever was keeping him still. He opened his mouth slightly to tell Barnes where to shove it, but the second his lips were parted, a scream tore up from his chest and he barely managed to jam his mouth closed in time to stifle it.

"Stop!" Barnes snapped, shoving harder against Tony's shoulder and pushing him back to the ground. "You're going to start bleeding again!"

 _Bleeding?_

Tony forced his eyes open and instantly wished he hadn't. There was a thick and bloody piece of rebar sticking out of the right side of his abdomen, undulating with his sloppy, uneven breaths.

He made a strangled sound as the flashbacks he'd worked so hard to get over assailed his mind: _the cave, the original reactor, the surgery—_

"Hey, hey, hey, breathe," he heard someone order and his hand was moved of its own volition until it rested on someone's chest. "Breathe with me, Stark. In and out."

— _the silo, Barnes' metal hand on the reactor, getting pounded with the shield—_

Tony jerked away before what was left of his cognitive processes could remind him that that was a bad idea and, almost instantly, his world faded out to white.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: In accordance with _Spiderman: Homecoming_ , Tony has moved the Avengers' base to the Compound. The Tower is now just an office building. However, it's still early enough in 2017 that Tony and Pepper aren't back together yet.**

* * *

Rhodey had always prided himself on his ability to roll with the proverbial punches. Today though, his friend disappearing yet again, presumably in the company of a known mass murderer, was a little more than he'd been prepared to handle. Rhodey had originally been worried Barnes had snapped, killed Tony and was disposing of the body, but before he could turn on Steve, FRIDAY had shared the footage of Barnes throwing himself in front of Tony's inactive suit seconds before a bomb went off in a nearby storefront. The camera had cut out due to the shockwave and, by the time someone had arrived on scene, both Barnes and Tony were gone. There was a large puddle of blood left behind in the construction across the street; it was the same type as Tony's, though the DNA match had yet to be confirmed.

While he was still mobile, Rhodey had checked the entire area multiple times but had found no valid leads as to where Tony had gone. When it was time to give his legs their mandated break from the exoskeleton, he'd headed back to the Compound, leaving FRIDAY searching for any digital trace of either Tony or Barnes at the scene, Romanoff and Barton interviewing survivors at the new SHIELD base, and Sam liaising at the local precinct in hopes that it would convince the LEOs to keep them in the investigative loop.

Though he was temporarily confined to the Compound, Rhodes wasn't sitting idle. He was calling in every favor he could think of to get information on the New Order, its members, or their bases of operation. He'd also reached out to an old friend from his Air Force days to see if there was any satellite footage of the attack; given that President Ellis had been involved, Rhodes suspected this was likely. Unfortunately, his contact had yet to respond. Rather than be discouraged, Rhodey shifted his focus to other avenues. He began watching media footage of the attack and the aftermath, looking for any clues about where the group had come from or, more importantly, what direction they'd taken Tony in.

He could only watch so much shaky camera footage before his brain felt like it was ready to combust. Rhodes paused the footage then allowed part of his attention to wander to Steve Rogers, who was pacing up and down the Compound hallway, checking his phone every few feet.

As surprised as everyone had been by Steve's unhappy announcement that he would go to the Compound and help in whatever way he could behind the scenes, they all knew his self-imposed exile was only temporary. They had no expectations that Steve would remain behind once they got their first solid lead, and honestly, Rhodey couldn't find it in himself to be appalled. As pissed as he felt right now, that Steve had waltzed back in here and their lives had gone to shit again, Rhodey wasn't arrogant enough to ignore the help his former teammates were offering.

Steve was either unconcerned he was being watched or he didn't notice, for he just turned on his heel when he reached the end of the hallway and headed back the way he came.

As much as Rhodey didn't want to notice, he couldn't help but see that Steve wasn't looking well. His face was thinner than Rhodey remembered and the bags under his eyes darker and more prominent. Ignoring the damage to the suit for the moment—Rhodey knew Steve had to have gone up against something serious to put tears like that in the reinforced material—the suit itself wasn't quite hugging Steve's frame as well as it once had. All Rhodey knew about Wakanda was what he'd been shown on the news after King T'Challa's reveal to the UN a few months back, but it seemed like they definitely had the resources to feed someone with an enhanced metabolism... which led Rhodey to believe that Steve hadn't been living there.

For the record, Rhodey wasn't _happy_ that his former teammates had seen a few rough months but he was somewhat appeased by the fact that the rest of the Avengers hadn't been living it up in a Wakandan palace while he and Tony had been pulled a thousand different directions trying to keep their heads afloat.

Of all Steve's physical changes, though, his new slicked-back hairstyle was probably what surprised Rhodes the most. Old Steve used to hate when his hair brushed the tops of his ears or the back of his neck, a point Tony constantly teased Steve about, and the supersoldier been clean-shaven every day Rhodey had seen him. Even if there was some sort of freak razor shortage in the Southern Hemisphere, Steve could have cut his hair with a pair of scissors, which was all the more reason for Rhodey to _almost_ be interested in what Steve and co had been up to the past six months.

What concerned Rhodey most, though, while watching Steve pace was the nasty cut in Steve's hairline that was still sluggishly leaking, hours after the battle had ended.

Part of him wanted to ask if Steve had had that looked at, but part of him was still smarting over Steve's disappearance, the mysterious burner phone and the otherwise lack of contact. Tony had told him the details of Siberia—what he remembered at least—and Rhodey was about two seconds away from asking if Steve had even bothered to make sure Tony had a way out before taking off to Wakanda with Barnes.

He'd been livid in the weeks that followed but, eventually, Rhodey had come to a sort of understanding. At a high-level, he knew _why_ Steve had done what he'd done, but Rhodey absolutely didn't agree with the _how_. If their roles had been reversed, though, and Tony had been the one the government was after, there wasn't much Rhodey wouldn't have done to protect his friend from a perceived threat. It was funny how bonds like that manifested.

Steve reached the far end of the hallway, checked his phone, scowled, then made a perfect 180-degree spin on his heel and headed back toward the open area where Rhodey was sitting. From this angle, Rhodey had an unobstructed view of Steve's head wound and could keep quiet no longer: they were going to need everyone operating at full strength in order to get Barnes and Tony back.

"You know you're bleeding, right?" he asked, unable to keep some of the bite out of his tone.

Steve jerked to a stop then looked up at Rhodey with a blank expression on his face. Rhodes gestured at his own hairline and Steve copied him, staring in surprise at his fingers which came away covered in blood.

"I'm going to take that as a no." Rhodey shifted over on the plush couch, winced as his back protested, then patted the spot next to him. "Sit down before you fall down."

Steve's battle face slid back on so quickly Rhodey could almost hear the metaphorical door drop. "I'm fine," was all Steve said before he spun on his heel and began heading down the hallway again.

"You're not going to do anyone any good if you pass out from blood loss."

Steve just walked faster in the other direction, covering the distance in half the time. With a grunt, Rhodes leveraged himself into his wheelchair and began rolling after the supersoldier. "C'mon Steve, you're taking this a bit far."

"I should be out there _doing_ something."

And dammit if Steve's slightly confused tone was taking large chunks out of Rhodey's resolve to remain mad. "You said it yourself Cap: if you go out there, all their attention will be on you. We need them focused on locating Tony and Barnes."

Steve hesitated, but before he could respond, the elevator door opened and Maria Hill and Pepper Potts hurried out.

"Any news?" Pepper demanded, practically sprinting to Rhodey's side. Her eyes were wide, searching, hopeful, and Rhodey's stomach clenched into knots as he shook his head 'no'. As Pepper's face fell slightly, he reached out and took her hand, knowing he didn't need to fill the air with platitudes. Because they'd been here before, they both knew exactly what the other would do to get Tony back.

Rhodey looked over his shoulder at Maria, who looked even less thrilled than she usually did to be here. "How 'bout from your end?" he prompted.

"We have every available resource working on it," Maria responded, her eyes not straying from Steve. "It's good to see you," she told him after a long moment.

"You too, Maria," Steve replied, looking to Rhodes like he actually meant it. "What can I do to help?"

She met his gaze for another moment then pointed to his hairline. "You can get your head looked at. I can't have any liabilities once we find them." Without giving Steve time to object, she stepped around him and continued down the hallway toward a bank of conference rooms. "I can make it an order if need be."

Rhodey and Pepper couldn't help but follow Maria's echoing footsteps down the hallway, which left them facing Steve, who was standing awkwardly a few feet away, obviously unsure of what to do next.

"I'm sorry, Pepper," he said softly as soon as she made eye contact with him.

The CEO crossed the distance between them in four long strides. "Are you okay?" Pepper demanded.

Steve nodded slowly then, before Rhodey could stop her, Pepper slapped the supersoldier in the face. Steve didn't even wince, despite the harsh red handprint on his cheek.

"That's for a whole lot of things," Pepper began, "including but not limited to not telling Tony about Barnes, or working it out like adults." She was moving again but, this time, she wrapped her arms around Steve and pulled him into a loose hug. "That's for coming back, even though it took you six months."

"I'm so sorry, Pepper," Steve breathed, dropping his chin against her shoulder. "We were just trying to help."

Despite the fact that Steve looked like he could use about a thousand more hugs, Rhodey could only take so much of this Hallmark moment. "Why don't you both get changed?" he interrupted while rolling over to where the two of them were embracing. "Steve, I think there's still some of your stuff on the 8th floor. Pepper, some of your stuff should still be in Tony's suite. Hopefully by the time you both get back, we'll have a new lead."

Steve and Pepper pulled apart and, within the second, had shifted back to the professional personas they wore in public. "I'll be back in five," Pepper then said as she walked quickly to the elevator. "And Steve?"

"Yes?"

"Go get your head checked out."

A microscopic smile flitted across Steve's face. "Yes, ma'am."

"Medical is still on three," Rhodey stated as he rolled past Steve and into the conference room where Maria had set up base. All the screens in the room were displaying news footage from different channels, while the former SHIELD agent tapped away at her tablet, and occasionally touched the comm in her ear.

He waited until she looked over at him before asking, "What can I do to help?"

* * *

Tony floated softly back into awareness. He couldn't quite muster up the strength to open his eyes so he just laid there, certain he was back in the Tower, having crashed after another inventing bender. As his senses slowly returned though, things started not adding up.

Whatever he was lying on was cold, hard and uneven. It definitely wasn't his bed and, even if he'd passed out in the lab, the floor was a smooth sealed tile that could be easily cleaned. With a little more desperation, he tried again to open his eyes. This time, he was successful, and saw a unforgiving concrete ceiling—definitely not from the Compound.

A rather subdued sense of panic slowly bubbled through his system, providing only the briefest moment of clarity. It was that delayed reaction that alerted Tony to the fact that he'd been drugged. At this realization, his heartbeat only sped up slightly, which confirmed his hypothesis. With renewed urgency, he glanced around as much as he could manage, taking in the high concrete walls and the thick reinforced metal door off to his right.

His gaze drifted back to center, which was when he saw a pile of bandages around his lower right side, a stub of rebar poking through the top. His suit was nowhere in sight.

In that second, he remembered the mission, the fight, the explosion and—his breath hitched, sending a small ping of discomfort through his side— _Barnes_. It took a Herculean effort even with the drugs coursing through his system, but he managed to stay calm and to not lose himself in a ball of despair. The circumstances were less than ideal but he could get through this; he'd done it before.

That, though, seemed to be all his body could manage for the moment and he drifted yet again.

He jolted back in awareness when he heard a thud outside the door. It must have been a while after his first awakening since he was in much better control of his limbs. With one hand pressed against his side to keep the rebar from moving, he tried to force himself upright, into a position where he could defend himself, but only succeeded in shimmying partway up the wall. He glanced desperately around the room but there was nothing he could use as weapon, not even something out of his reach.

He desperately wished for the suit, or at least a gauntlet, but he'd removed his implants as part of the Clean Slate Protocol so he couldn't call them even if the suit was still —

The door banged open, the harsh crack echoing through the empty room and driving shards of agony through Tony's skull. He vaguely understood that someone was thrown in the room with him before the door slammed shut.

Tony squinted, forcing himself to focus, and saw a gleam of metal amidst the dark, crumpled heap on the floor.

Barnes.

It wasn't as easy to quell the panic this time. He forced himself a little higher up the wall, elbow of the hand protecting the rebar held out as if to keep Barnes away.

It was only after a beat that the rushing in Tony's ears died down enough for him to hear the short, pained breaths emanating from where Barnes was, and to realize the Soldier had made no move to attack him. The other man had forced himself to his knees, his left arm braced against his ribs and his head hanging between his shoulders.

Unless Tony was mistaken, Barnes sounded like he was in serious pain. It could be a ploy though, to lure Tony in before killing him, so he stayed healthily suspicious and in his defensive posture.

A long beat later, Barnes' head drifted left, allowing Tony to see the mess of deep cuts and colorful bruises spanning the Soldier's face. His memory of his first awakening was brief but Tony was fairly certain Barnes hadn't been quite this beat up then... That combined with the memory of Barnes trying to stop him from reopening his wound caused Tony's conviction that Barnes was here to kill him to waver ever-so-slightly; but then self-preservation and past experience kicked in and forced those thoughts out of his mind.

Something unreadable flashed through Barnes' eyes before he heaved himself to the right, collapsing in a position not dissimilar to Tony's against the far wall. He spat out a mouthful of blood then raised the middle finger of his flesh hand to the right corner of the room.

"Just wait for round two," Barnes slurred out as he leaned his head back against the wall. "Camera," he grunted after a beat, motioning again to the corner.

Tony looked left and noted the small device high in the upper corner. Then, he looked back at Barnes, who had made no motion to strangle, maim, or otherwise incapacitate him in the time Tony had looked away. Still, the memories of Siberia, of Barnes trying to rip out the arc reactor, were bubbling a little too close to the surface. It was probably only the drugs that were keeping him from delving into full-on panic.

"Are you going to kill me?" The words were out of Tony's mouth before he had realized his mouth was moving. Part of him winced at the blunt question but he held his face neutral.

Barnes made a choked sound, then replied, "I don't do that anymore."

Tony wasn't sure what he had been expecting but it was as good an answer as any. His drug-addled brain accepted the response without question but he didn't lower his elbow at all.

"Are you going to kill _me_?"

Tony blinked in surprise at the soft question. He supposed it was justified, given he'd tried to do just that in Siberia. After returning home, he'd torn through everything Natasha had leaked two years ago, looking for any scrap or suggestion of the Winter Soldier program. He'd found enough to know that Barnes hadn't been in control the day he'd killed Tony's parents. And while Tony consciously knew that, he'd be lying if he said being in such close proximity to his mother's killer wasn't dredging up some feelings of the murderous variety.

"For what it's worth—" Barnes began from the other side of the room and Tony was lightning fast to cut off whatever was coming next.

"I am _not_ doing this with you right now," he snapped, holding up his free hand, palm out, for emphasis. "In fact, let's just clear the air on the whole killing matter: I won't try to kill you, if you don't try to kill me. We don't need any touchy feely moments, we don't need to bond, we just need to figure out a way out of here and then we can go our separate ways."

There was a long pause, and then Barnes nodded.

 _Thank god._

Tony's side took that moment to voice its agony and he looked down at it to see red speckling the white bandages. Barnes was eerily silent on the other side of the room so Tony took the next few minutes, and the brief sliver of cognition he had left, to really examine his side.

He wasn't a medical doctor, but even to him this seemed like a pretty bad wound. Thanks to Sam's basic first aid lessons, he knew gut wounds weren't like what he saw in the movies and that there were massive amounts of organs, bowels, and what have you crammed into his abdomen. Don't ask him which ones were around where the rebar was, but he could only hope they could put up with a little trauma while he figured out a way out of this…

Which unfortunately probably required Barnes' input, given Tony had no idea where they were. Plus, the conversation would serve as a great distraction while he tried to see how badly he was injured.

"How'd we get here?" Tony ground out through clenched teeth as he gently prodded his wound.

"Drove," Barnes replied after a long moment. "In the back of a Chevy van."

That wasn't exactly what Tony'd meant. "No other details?" He lifted the bandage slightly and immediately wished he hadn't. He closed his eyes, fighting the pull of nausea, but not getting any relief from the sight of the angry red wound which was now splayed on the backs of his eyelids.

"I saw the bomb, realized you weren't going to be able to move in the suit, tried to push you out of the way," Barnes began, the words sounding rote like a status report. "But it was too late. It threw us into a parking garage that was under construction. When I came to, we were surrounded. They wanted to pull out the rebar, I convinced them not to—"

"You _what_!"

"You would have bled out," Barnes explained unapologetically. "Still might, if you move around too much. You're not like us."

Tony didn't need any of his PhDs to figure out who the other half of the 'us' was. If Barnes was telling the truth though, that meant he'd saved Tony's life.

Tony was so not dealing with that right now.

"What next?"

"They made you mobile, then loaded you in a van."

There was something odd about the way Barnes said that... Tony couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was but, either way, it merited a follow-up question: "Where were you?"

"I got kicked in the head."

That explained it.

"Was I still wearing the suit?"

Barnes nodded.

Hope sparked in Tony's system. At least the suit was here. He didn't know what shape it was in but, assuming they could get out of this room, he could probably cobble together some sort of armor, maybe even get FRIDAY back. Worst case scenario and the suit was unusable, they could probably find a smart phone or a computer and use that to call in the cavalry.

He waited for Barnes to offer up any additional information like when exactly the suit had been taken off of him or how Barnes had ended up with a face full of bruises, but the Soldier was silent.

"What happened to it?" Tony prompted a beat later, with only mild frustration.

"Don't know. We got separated when we arrived."

"Where did you go?"

"Down to the basement. Had a nice little chat with our housekeepers." Without opening his eyes, Barnes motioned to his bruised face with his flesh hand.

Humor in the face of such a grave situation was _almost_ a quality Tony could appreciate. "Do you have any idea where we are?"

"We drove for an hour after I came to. No idea how long we were driving before that. It was dark when we arrived."

Wonderful. A whole lot of nothing.

Tony scowled, then took another long look around the room. Since they couldn't figure out where they were, he returned to problems he could solve, like getting out of this room. Unfortunately, the walls were concrete, there were no obvious seams, and the door was metal, but Tony couldn't figure out exactly what type or how thick.

Then the something that had been bothering him unconsciously shifted to the front of his brain.

"Wait, how'd _you_ get taken?" he asked, turning to face Barnes. In the UN, pre-Siberia, Tony had seen the Soldier take out a majority of the Avengers while barely breaking a sweat. He should have easily been able to take out however many goons had been sent to retrieve them.

"I told you, I came to, we were surrounded—"

"That's not what I mean. Why didn't you fight?"

Barnes was quiet for a long moment. "They had a gun on you. Probability of your survival with defensive action low."

Well that was unexpected. If Barnes really had wanted to kill Tony, it appeared he could have done it long before now. Though he had said something similar earlier, it was really starting to sink in just how dependent Tony and Barnes were going to have to be on each other to get out of here.

"So now, why not just bust down the door with your new metal arm?" Tony asked, motioning to the new black and gold design. He'd noticed it as soon as Barnes had leaned against the wall but he'd been too preoccupied to spend any cycles on it up until that point.

"Can't. They put something on it."

His response was almost soft, which piqued Tony's interest much more than a snappy reply.

Tony straightened up and took a calculating look at Barnes, who was wearing an undershirt that was made of more holes than fabric and black combat pants. The former was obviously not standard combat gear, which meant there was probably a vest and perhaps some of Barnes' weapons somewhere, hopefully close to where the Iron Man suit was. Barnes' new arm rested tight across his chest like it was in an imaginary sling and it took Tony a minute to separate out the thick black band wrapped around Barnes' bicep.

"What's it do?"

In lieu of a verbal response, Barnes lifted his metal arm a few inches. Almost immediately, blue bolts shot out of the band and danced up and down the arm. Barnes doubled over, gasping for breath while his right hand scrabbled at the band. Five seconds later, the band went black but Barnes remained hunched over, his back heaving.

"An explanation would have sufficed," Tony deadpanned, "no demonstration needed."

"You wouldn't have believed me," Barnes rasped out as he straightened up. Underneath the bruises, his face was ghost-white and pinched, meaning whatever that device was, it was clearly designed to keep a supersoldier docile.

That wasn't something that was just whipped up on the fly. "How did—"

"Hydra," Barnes responded, barely audible.

Well shit.


	3. Chapter 3

Steve didn't realize until the last stitch had been inserted how much of a berth the medbay staff were giving him. In the past, they'd been open and friendly, but now they were maintaining at least a ten-foot radius. The only exception was Brenna, the nurse who was currently suturing his forehead.

As she stepped aside to examine her work, Steve caught a glimpse of himself in the far mirror. He immediately toned down his murderous expression and mumbled out an apology.

"It's quite alright," Brenna replied as she gently blotted the area around his wound. "You've been through a lot lately."

That was the understatement of the year. "Am I cleared to go?" Steve asked once she began to strip off her gloves.

"Not yet. Per your file, I'm supposed to ask about your caloric intake."

"I'm eating fine."

Brenna looked less than convinced but didn't allow Steve time to protest. " _Regardless_ , I recommend IV nutrients to replenish what you lost during the fight."

That wouldn't do. That was too much time away from the second floor, where all the action was. Despite the fact the conference room screens were linked to Steve's phone, which he was compulsively checking, it made him physically uneasy to be away from the action for this long.

"How about I raid the kitchen instead?" he bargained, forcing up the corners of his mouth into what he hoped was a semi-persuasive smile.

Brenna hesitated for a long moment but, eventually, nodded her concession. "Those stitches need to be looked at again in a couple hours," she stated as she made some notes in Steve's file. "Let's say, 1700. I'll reevaluate your need for an IV then."

"I'll be here." After thanking Brenna, Steve pushed himself off the metal exam table and out of the medbay.

It was killing him, this 'sit around and wait'. He wanted nothing more to be out on the street searching for his friends but, given his new fugitive status, he would attract a lot of unwanted attention—attention that deserved to be focused on any possible sightings of Tony or Bucky.

So he would bide his time at the Compound, doing whatever could be done without exposure, until they got a solid lead. At that point, all bets would be off.

Steve bypassed the elevator in favor of the stairs, in an attempt to work off some of his pent-up energy. He checked his phone again while he climbed, but there were no updates from Maria, and none of the searches he had set up earlier had returned any results.

As he spilled out of the stairwell on the 8th floor, which he used to share with Sam and Thor, Steve was more than a little surprised to see his room was just the way he'd left it. Not that there was much in there to begin with, but, after what had transpired between him and Tony, Steve wouldn't have faulted Tony for throwing all his stuff away.

He pulled on a clean T-shirt and jeans, leaving his uniform draped over the shower rod, then grabbed a protein bar from the box by the doorway, hoping it was before its expiration date. He hurried down the stairs to the second floor, alternating between checking his phone and inhaling the bar.

"Any news?" he asked as soon as he entered the conference room.

Maria just shook her head. "Nothing on how Stark and Barnes were taken from the parking garage, or how the New Order discovered the location of the supposedly secret meeting. Or, for that matter, how they ended up with so much Chitauri tech. It's all supposed to be in deep storage."

"Are we sure the first two are related?" Rhodey asked as he paged through a tablet.

"It's one helluva coincidence if they aren't."

"What if we started looking at places they'd go?" Steve suggested. "They'd need a place that could hold Bucky, assuming he isn't injured. There can't be that many places like that in the area—"

"You don't know that," Rhodey interrupted. "The safer play would be to take them as far away from here as possible. Probably to a base or safe house."

"If Tony's injured as bad as we think, they aren't going far," Steve said softly. "Especially since we didn't see any air transpo at the scene." Then he turned to Maria. "Anything from the other members of the group?"

"Most of them are talking for lighter sentences so there's a lot of data to sort through. A couple members gave us the same address—some sort of meeting place. We already sent out a team. Stark and Barnes aren't there, but we're searching it for clues."

Just then Steve's cell phone rang. He barely glanced at the name before accepting the call. "What do you have Natasha?" he demanded without preamble.

"You at the base?" she asked, sounding out of breath.

"Yes."

"Put me on speaker." She waited barely a second before continuing, "There's another base where New Order leaders meet. This guy didn't know where it was, only that the bigwigs visited it once a week to discuss their plans."

"Any of these people have names?" Maria asked.

"All codenames, all colors. Leader goes by Grey. Late forties, early fifties; six foot; strong but not muscular; blue eyes; good-looking but not stunning—yes, that last part is an exact quote. His right-hand men are Blue and Green; Purple and White are newly appointed, which, according to our new friends here, means they know less intel. We've got the four people who said they could give a good physical description sitting with a sketch artist in a couple hours."

"Anything else?"

"A few cell phone numbers, but apparently they're all burners."

"Send them over, we'll run them anyway." While speaking, Maria tapped on her tablet, probably spinning up a new team to handle that work.

"Romanoff," a masculine voice on the other end of the line called.

"Just a sec."

Those in the compound heard a flurry of motion and brief snippets of a muffled conversation before Natasha came back on the line. "Anything on your end?"

"No news. Still searching."

"Keep us updated." Natasha didn't wait for a response before ending the call.

Even though the Widow couldn't see him, Steve nodded then slid the phone back into his pocket.

"What can I do?" he asked Maria.

The SHIELD agent continued to consult with her tablets and didn't respond for so long Steve wasn't sure if she'd heard him. But then, she looked up at him and said, "Someone needs to look through the social media posts FRIDAY identified and see if any really are about Tony or Barnes."

Finally, something concrete for him to do.

Steve nodded gratefully. "I'm on it."

* * *

All the saliva had disappeared from Tony's mouth, so he had to swallow hard a few times before he could speak again. "We're in a Hydra base?"

Barnes nodded.

"And you know this how?"

Barnes opened his eyes and fixed Tony with a deadly glare. "I know, okay?"

Realizing he'd probably crossed a line, Tony lifted his left hand in surrender. "I had to ask."

Barnes made a noise in the back of his throat but otherwise didn't reply.

At a loss for words, Tony allowed the conversation to die and returned to examining the room. Unfortunately, just as he had earlier, he saw no seams, no possible exits, and nothing to use to defend himself or pick the lock.

"Can you fight?" Tony asked sometime later. Belatedly, he remembered the camera and tried his best to not move his lips, fervently hoping Barnes had at least some of Steve's super-hearing.

"Yes," Barnes replied, voice equally soft. "If we can secure my arm."

"Shirt as a last resort. Hopefully we can find something else while we're—"

Suddenly, the door swung open. Barnes, who had been moving sluggishly up until that point, was on his feet in an instant and charging whomever had opened it.

Tony had just raised his hands to defend himself when the air crackled with electricity and the hair on his arms stood on end. Across the room, Barnes crashed to his knees, his whole body seizing as blue bolts danced up and down his arm.

Tony lifted his gaze to see a redheaded man standing in the doorway. He was tall and stocky, obviously hired for his brawn, and was currently thumbing a small black device in his hand. "Come with us," the man ordered in a thick accent, motioning for Tony to stand.

As much as Tony hated the idea of being in the same room as The Winter Soldier, being separated from him in his current condition was suddenly far less appealing. His hands curled into fists and he lifted them to shoulder level, ready to defend himself.

With an deep sigh, the redheaded man reached toward Tony, who instinctively recoiled before he realized that was a bad idea. Spots of color exploded in his vision as his side screeched in agony, and Tony was only barely aware of a hand on his arm, yanking him to his feet. He tried to resist being pulled out of the room, but in his current state, his movements were slow and uncoordinated at best.

Tony winced as the cool air from the hallway hit his exposed skin and seconds later he heard the door bang closed behind him. Thankfully, the zapping sound stopped, but Tony couldn't spare more than a second's concern for Barnes before his brain whirred into overdrive, taking in the details of the hallway—thick concrete walls, unadorned, not even a fire extinguisher. There were two people holding him, one on each arm, but Tony wasn't seeing clearly enough to absorb any major features.

They turned the corner and Tony's heart sank as he saw the red cephalopod spray-painted on the wall. Barnes had been right yet again.

Tony hadn't really doubted him but he had been hoping The Soldier was wrong. Because the alternative, being trapped with Hydra—Hydra who had grown within SHIELD and could feasibly have access to all his medical files and personal information—was much worse.

The two men dragged Tony down a right, then a left, and finally stopped in front of a door that had a reinforced window set into it. Through the window, Tony saw the pieces of his suit strewn across the floor of what looked like a laboratory. The red-haired man, now officially dubbed Guard One, stepped in front of Tony and pulled open the door, while the other man, Guard Two, shoved him through it.

His forward momentum was hard to stop and Tony barely managed to brace himself with his arms to keep the rebar from connecting with the floor. Still, the jolt sent agony lancing through his side, stealing his breath and his cognition.

Then something tapped against his foot and Tony scrambled backwards, away from the contact, his right arm braced against his injured abdomen.

His vision now beginning to focus, he looked up to see Guard One pointing to the pieces of the Iron Man suit. Guard Two was nowhere in sight.

"Fix it," Guard One ordered.

"No," Tony spat out. From what he could tell with a quick glance, the suit had been removed in its major parts, which meant it could possibly be put back together, if he could get back here without supervision. The exterior was bullet-ridden, meaning it wasn't as structurally secure as Tony might have liked, but it would still provide far better protection than the thin fabric of his undersuit. In fact, the only piece that seemed unusable was the blood-spattered and heavily dented abdominal plate.

But no, Tony wouldn't fix the suit for them. He knew how powerful the suit was and how destructive his design could be in the wrong hands; giving the New Order, or whatever the new Hydra offshoot decided to call themselves, a working suit wasn't a risk he could take.

He knew what was likely going to happen; he had been through this before. He swallowed hard but raised his chin in acceptance of his fate.

"Oh, we're not going to harm _you_ ," Guard One drawled and Tony's stomach hit the floor. "We need you functioning."

A stifled yelp boomed through the room and Tony looked around in panic to see where it'd come from. Maybe someone else had been captured as well: Rhodey, Steve, or, god forbid, Peter or _Pepper_.

With ice shooting through his veins, he looked up to see Guard One pointing at a small tube television hanging from the ceiling. The feed was black-and-white but Tony had no problems identifying Barnes, who was doubled over in the bottom right corner of the screen as white hot bolts danced up and down his arm. A third man, Guard Three, was standing in the room with Barnes and actually had the audacity to wave a small remote at the camera.

Guard One made a cutting gesture and the shocks stopped. As Barnes sagged to the ground, his breath harsh and ragged, Guard One turned to Tony. "Will you fix the suit?"

"I can't," Tony stated, finding it easy to add a touch of desperation to his tone. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed Barnes—needed his mobility and super-strength—to get out of the base, especially if he couldn't fix the suit for himself. "Your EMP shorted it out. It's ruined!"

Guard One cleared his throat, and, onscreen, Guard Three turned a dial on the remote.

Before he could hit the button, though, Barnes spoke up. "Using me as leverage, huh?" he ground out in a gravelly tone. "I killed his parents. He's not going to do anything to save me."

Red tinged Tony's vision and his heart raced in fury at the nonchalant way Barnes mentioned murdering his parents. For a long few moments, he stuttered to breathe, or even think clearly. But then, the pieces clicked together and he understood that Barnes was trying to distance the two of them, to take away any leverage the New Order thought they had.

It took quite a bit of effort but Tony was able to set his expression. He looked up to see Guard One staring at him in open curiosity.

"He did?" the guard prompted.

Tony didn't answer, both because it was painful to admit and because he hoped the silence would give more credibility to Barnes' plan.

That ended up not being the case. Guard Three hit the button on the remote, the band on Barnes' arm sparked neon-white and Barnes began convulsing.

Tony didn't want to respond, didn't want to give in, but knew he had to before band did any irrevocable damage. "Yes," he spat out. "Yes, he did."

"Yet you respond to save him," Guard One replied. "Curious." While the band continued to shock Barnes, Guard One actually stroked his chin like some sort of B-movie villain before turning back to Tony. "Fix the suit," he ordered again.

"I can't."

" _Try._ "

Onscreen, Barnes was now violently jerking but Tony forced himself to count to five before responding. These men couldn't think they had all the cards or they'd never stop hurting Barnes. Tony's surrender had to be believable; if he was too willing to build them a suit, it would raise eyebrows and bring undue scrutiny. He had to make them believe he'd been left without another option.

As the seconds ticked by, Tony held eye contact with Guard One, who just smiled widely at him.

"Stop shocking him," Tony ordered, at the five count.

Guard One's grin took on a sadistic lift for four more seconds before ordering Guard Three to desist.

Barnes slumped to the ground, deadly silent. After a long moment, he heaved himself onto his flesh elbow and began to retch… right onto Guard Three's shoes. The sound churned Tony's stomach but he forced himself to swallow down the knee-jerk reaction to Barnes' suffering. He couldn't allow himself to throw up with the rebar in his side; the pain would be more excruciating than it already was.

Onscreen, Guard Three kicked out at Barnes, sending him sprawling against the ground. The Soldier landed on his back with a heavy crash and didn't move.

"You have one hour to fix the suit," Guard One said, drawing Tony's attention back to the laboratory. "And to prevent any escape attempts…"

A gunshot echoed in the lab. It took Tony's brain a moment to realize what happened and, despite the guard's earlier words that he wasn't going to be harmed, Tony looked down, expecting to see blood on the previously-unblemished parts of his undersuit.

It was only after a beat that he realized he hadn't felt any pain.

His breath catching in his throat, Tony looked up at the television to see Barnes curled on his side, flesh hand clutching his right thigh, which was rapidly turning a darker shade of gray. In the opposite corner, Guard Three was holding out a still smoking gun and grinning toothily at the camera.

Up until that point, Tony would have thought he would be less upset to see Barnes hurt, given how the man had ripped away the one good thing in his life, but now, it was hard to hear Barnes' short pained inhales as he tried his best to stop the bleeding.

"One hour," Guard One repeated before he stepped into the hallway and pulled the door to the lab closed behind him.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Given the ending of the last chapter, it is now time for another warning. Some mildly-graphic descriptions of injuries will occur in this chapter (and in later ones) as the characters tend to their wounds. It's nothing too terrible and definitely within the PG-13/T rating, but I wanted to warn you in case it squicks anyone out. I will include a brief summary at the bottom if you want to just skip the last two-thirds of this chapter.**

* * *

Steve squinted at the umpteenth social media post, only to realize it was the photo itself, not his vision, that was blurry. Realizing how close his face was to the screen, he pulled away and scrubbed at the bridge of his nose, in hopes it would alleviate some of the pressure building behind his eyes.

He glanced down at the corner of the screen and was shocked to see that a whole hour had passed. Almost instantly, the shock was replaced by a wave of frustration that that much time had passed without a single valid clue as to where Tony and Bucky had been taken. There were thousands of videos, images and posts about the attack online. FRIDAY had weeded out a great number of them, but the amount that needed to be reviewed was still more than one normal person's share. Thankfully, Steve's vision was anything but normal.

Still, the constant stream of images was taking a toll on his system. As much as Steve tried to ignore it, his headache was increasing in strength with every passing moment. He didn't let his thoughts linger there long however. As soon as the ache in his eyes died down fractionally, he swiped through the next post, which didn't contain any trace of his friends.

After three more images, a cup of coffee appeared in his line of sight. It could only have been brought by Maria, since Pepper had been called away to an SI meeting and, while Rhodey had shelved their disagreement in favor of getting Tony and Bucky back, he was by no means going out of his way to interact with Steve.

Steve didn't blame Rhodey for keeping his distance. He knew he'd left Tony (and by association Rhodey) in a bad situation here in the States by taking Bucky to Wakanda. He'd tried to keep open the door for reconciliation—over time, obviously; he wasn't naive enough to think it'd happen all at once—so he wasn't put off by Rhodes' attitude. Once Tony and Bucky were back, he could spend time mending bridges... assuming Tony and Rhodey wanted them to be mended.

"Thanks Maria." Steve shot her a grateful smile before taking a swig of the coffee and continuing to page through results.

He expected her to walk away without making small talk, since he wasn't sure where their friendship stood after his abrupt departure, but to his surprise, Maria rested her hand on his. "C'mon Steve," she said softly, "you need a break."

"Can't. Not while they're still out there." He could easily have thrown off her hand, but he chose to clear the next two images with the pinkie of the hand holding the cup of coffee.

Without warning, his screen went black.

"Take five," Maria ordered before she withdrew her hand and straightened up to her full height. "You're not going to do them any good if you run yourself into the ground."

Steve scowled up at her, but after seeing she wasn't going to relent, nodded and scooted back from the in-table screen.

"Anything from the others?" he asked, swiveling to face Maria, who fixed him with an unamused glare.

"This is not the break I had in mind."

Steve returned her gaze levelly as he sipped at his coffee. "It's this, or I work."

Maria glanced up at the ceiling, as if asking for patience, but then reported, "Barton and Romanoff are still running down leads; we have a partial composite of the leader, which we're running against any footage we can get our hands on; and there's no news from Sam."

"Vision?"

"He's hardwired in the server room. Not sure what he's working on but he insists it's helpful."

Steve nodded absently then downed the last bit of his coffee. "How have things been?" he asked as he rubbed away any stray drops on his beard.

Rhodey snorted on the other side of the room but neither Maria or Steve acknowledged him.

"It's been rough," Maria replied after a beat. "Secretary Ross has a very… interesting way of doing things."

"And Tony?" Steve asked, even softer.

She shook her head. "I'm not the one you need to talk to." Then her smartwatch chirped and she looked down at the notification. "You know your five is almost up, don't you?"

"Ninety-six more seconds," Steve replied with a lopsided, yet halfhearted, grin.

"And you know I'm the last person who would try to mother you, right?"

Knowing where this conversation was going, Steve groaned. "Not you too." It wasn't that he wasn't ungrateful for everyone looking out for him; it was just that their attention needed to be focused elsewhere. He would be _fine_.

Maria either hadn't heard him or just chose to ignore him. "But I feel like I need to ask if you've eaten lately," she continued, looking up at him for confirmation.

" _Yes_ ," Steve stated, with only a slight undercurrent of frustration in his tone. "I understand I can't do anyone any good if I'm on an IV in a hospital bed."

Maria smiled thinly at his response. "It's just..." she pointed at his hairline. "It doesn't look closed yet."

Steve gently felt at the still seeping wound and shrugged. "Things have been a little rough; serum's probably just a little taxed from the fight."

Maria nodded but her sharp gaze didn't look completely convinced. "Humor me and grab something from the break room," she instructed before she headed back to the front of the conference room.

Steve debated staying put and waiting for his remaining eighty-five seconds to tick past but she did have a point. The protein bar had only done so much to tide him over, and if all went well, he hoped to be out of the Compound and tracing down viable leads in the near future. "Anyone want anything?" he asked as he stood up and stretched his arms over his head.

He wasn't surprised or offended by the silence he received in reply.

He shrugged then headed to the break room across the hall, where he grabbed an armful of pre-made sandwiches from the fridge. Upon returning, he slid one across the table to Rhodes, one to Maria, then popped open the seal on one of the remaining four as he dropped back into his seat and returned to reviewing the social media posts.

* * *

Tony watched the redheaded Guard One and the dark-haired Guard Two conversed through the glass in the lab door. Guard Two was somewhat facing toward the lab, but the small black lines in the windowpane made it difficult for Tony to see what he was saying. The conversation was rather short and ended with Guard One walking away.

Tony heard the door's handle depress and quickly returned to fiddling with the suit pieces as Guard Two entered the lab. A split second later, the room exploded in the screech of metal against metal. Tony immediately clapped his free hand against his exposed ear, then ducked his head into his shoulder to protect the other. Thankfully, the sound subsided not long after, and, when he could think clearly again, Tony looked up to find the Guard Two sitting on a metal stool he'd dragged in front of the door, a handgun and a black remote resting in his lap.

The whole thing was obviously a show of power, of Guard Two trying to exert his dominance, but Tony wasn't phased; he'd lived through worse.

The guard must have seen Tony staring because he pointed at the suit, then waved a small black remote. Taunting him.

 _That_ threat was more effective, considering how important Barnes was to Tony's escape plan. Tony stared at Guard Two for a moment more, then looked back down at the array of suit pieces splayed across the floor. A second, longer inspection confirmed his original assumption that the armor could be fixed, assuming he could get some power to the arc reactor, which currently lay cold and dark in the center of the room.

Not trusting himself to stand, Tony scooted toward it but immediately stopped when white-hot pain raced up his side. He glanced down and saw the blood seeping through the bandages.

"Can I get a first-aid kit?" he grunted as his vision tilted dangerously. He pressed one hand against his side and let himself tilt forward. As much as it pained him to show this much weakness, if the guards thought he was weaker than he actually was, they might underestimate him at some point, which would give Tony an opportunity to escape.

He heard Guard Two exhale loudly, almost disappointedly, before some shuffling and a skidding sound. Then something slid to a stop beside his hip.

"Behind you," the guard said, rather unnecessarily.

Tony didn't acknowledge the response and just shifted so he could open the rather large white box sitting next to him. He instantly thanked whoever was watching out for him when he discovered that the supplies in this first-aid kit rivaled the one Pepper had assembled for his lab at the Compound. The kit was filled with large pads of gauze, many different roles of athletic tape, bandages of all sizes, splints, braces, tourniquets and, thankfully, combat gauze. Tony's stomach subconsciously flipped as he recalled his previous experience with the combat gauze, but knew nothing would be better at stopping the bleeding.

With his back still turned to Guard Two, Tony carefully pulled the bandages away from his wound. Blood immediately welled into the now empty space, adding another layer of red to his already discolored skin.

As his heart pounded against his aching rib cage, Tony pulled out the combat gauze, gently laid it around the rebar, then pressed down. Agony tore through his side and up his throat, but Tony bit down hard, refusing to let the sound out. His body writhed as it tried desperately to get away from the pain, and it took everything he had to keep from vocalizing his cries. In this, he would be strong; he would prove he was still super, even without the suit.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there before the agony began to subside, but when he could see again, Guard Two was standing over him and staring down at him.

Tony slid backward on the floor, this time not quite hiding the strangled sound that slipped through his lips. Thankfully, Guard Two responded by taking a large step back. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but then closed it and walked back to his seat.

Tony watched him cautiously, waiting for some sort of trick, but the guard just resumed his post in front of the door. Tony waited another moment but, when Guard Two continued to sit there, Tony spared a second to check his side. It was more than a little unnerving to see the rebar poking up around the combat gauze, but at least the amount of blood seeping from the wound had diminished. It was a temporary fix at best since Tony was going to need to be active in order to fix the suit, but at least he was no longer in danger of bleeding out at that very moment.

Tony blinked the dampness from the corners of his eyes and set about packing the wound with pads of gauze before taping them down. Unfortunately, the athletic tape wasn't sticking to his sweaty skin which forced him to ask Guard Two if they had any duct tape.

Guard Two made a sound of displeasure but a roll of duct tape knocked into Tony's knee a minute later. Tony quickly wrapped it around his abdomen, the lines uneven and widely varied, but when he was done, very little was going to jar the stub of rebar left in his side.

His wound taken care of, Tony looked up at the television to find Barnes in much the same position he'd last been in. Even with the grainy footage, Tony could see Barnes' tense posture, all wicked sharp angles, and knew he must be in serious pain as well.

"What about him?" Tony asked, pointing at the screen with his left hand.

"He'll be fine," Guard Two replied as he rearranged the gun in his lap.

From the tone of Guard Two's voice, Tony knew any further questions would not be well-received. He was going to have to save his protests for later—and, unfortunately, Tony was familiar enough with situations like this to know there would be a 'later'.

At this point, he had no other choice than to go back to his suit. He had to at least pretend to fiddle with it, especially while Guard Two was in the room.

Tony scooted toward the chest piece and held his hand up to it. There was no heat emanating from it, meaning it was well and truly dead. His only option was to try and charge it. Assuming he got a gauntlet working, Tony could connect the two and try to escape. Of course, Hydra had to know he'd plan something like this, unless they really did think he was so concerned about Barnes' life that he wouldn't attempt a stunt like this.

The recursive logic stabbed through his forehead like a physical bolt of pain, and Tony quickly shifted his attention elsewhere.

"I don't suppose you have an extension cord?" he asked over his shoulder.

"I'm not here to help you," Guard Two snapped.

"If you want the suit up and running in an hour, you will." Tony motioned to the chest piece. "It's out of power so until it has enough juice to at least light up, I can't do anything with the rest of the suit." That wasn't entirely true: he could still probably reassemble the other pieces, but the guard didn't have to know that. Besides, if Guard Two was helping him, there was a greater chance of Tony being able to distract him. Once that happened, Tony could either incapacitate the guard so he could escape himself, or he could break the remote which could allow Barnes to get away.

Tony kept his back to Guard Two, eyes focused on the arc reactor, until he heard the man sigh. After a flurry of more shuffling, Guard Two crouched down beside him and held out a coil of orange extension cord.

"I don't like to be handed things," Tony stated, more out of principle than actual dislike. Besides, the guards were expecting the snarky persona they'd seen on TV. Who was Tony to deny them that, especially while they were holding him captive.

Guard Two rolled his eyes then dropped the extension cord. His left hand then tightened on the grip of his gun, making Tony tense, thinking he'd overstepped, but the guard just silently and uneventfully returned to the stool.

Tony waited until the guard had taken a seat before tearing off the female end of the extension cord with his heel, thus exposing the wires. He arranged them around the arc, much like he had five years ago at the Kennar farm, then held out the male end to Guard Two.

The guard scowled but again rose to his feet to plug the extension cord into the wall.

Tony grinned widely, showing a full array of straight white teeth, before returning to trying to improvise some sort of weapon from the suit.

* * *

It wasn't the worst situation Bucky had been in, but he could hardly call it one of the best. His body had already been in a sub-optimal state from his beating earlier, before Hydra had tried to use him as leverage. He'd gotten relatively lucky with the gunshot wound in his leg, which, while concerning for the potential blood loss, wasn't as bad as it could have been; the bullet had missed his femoral artery and bone, and had instead carved out a path through his outer thigh. He knew he could walk on it without serious issues.

The kick to the ribs he'd just received for vomiting on the guard's shoes could have been avoided, but to Bucky, his show of defiance was well worth the cost. That being said, he was pretty sure that his once-just-cracked ribs were now actually broken.

In his current state, he could probably get through the door and overpower the man standing guard outside, but then his flesh hand would most likely be shattered from repeated impact with metal and would be unable to hold a weapon. Mission incompatible.

However, given the choice between that, or being stuck in Hydra's clutches for a few more hours, Bucky would have risked the former. If he'd been alone.

With Stark being held as well, now in a separate room, an escape attempt wasn't a valid option at the moment. Bucky knew from the show the guard who had shot him had put on, that Hydra wanted something from Tony: either for him to fix the Iron Man suit or for some sort of ransom. Neither option sat well with Bucky but both were better than the guards asking for the trigger words.

They didn't work anymore, thanks to the Wakanda medical team and Shuri's cognitive reprogramming devices, but that wasn't exactly common knowledge. Bucky's best guess was that the guards didn't know the words or weren't willing to risk The Soldier's wrath. And honestly that suited Bucky just fine. It was one less thing for him to worry about while planning his escape.

Unfortunately, that couldn't happen until he stemmed the bleeding in his leg; even with his watered-down version of the supersoldier serum, Bucky couldn't recover from massive blood loss without assistance.

Bucky pressed harder on his leg for a long forty-five seconds, digging his teeth into his bottom lip to keep a cry from escaping. Then he released his hold and, without moving his metal arm, reached over his head and tugged on his undershirt, which ripped without much additional strain. Bucky started a tear in hem with his teeth, then stuffed half of the shirt under his left heel so he could rip a relatively straight line in the fabric. Once the larger part of his shirt was torn in half yet again, he balled up the first third and packed tightly against the entrance wound; the second he draped around his leg as a tie before he wadded the final third against the exit wound. It took some doing but he managed to get both ends of the tie over the top of his thigh at the same time and, after using his left ankle as a weight, was able to tie a series of slip knots, which he tightened around his leg.

By the time he was done, Bucky was shaking, sweating, and not far from passing out. He didn't allow himself to collapse though, and instead scooted back to the far wall where he let his head fall back against the cool concrete. He wasn't planning on sleeping—far from it—but knew from past experience that his version of the serum required rest in order to do its job.

No matter what Tony had been tasked with, they had some time—time Bucky could leverage for healing, in order to make a future escape plan a reality.

With that in mind, he let his eyes drift closed and turned his consciousness over to The Soldier, who had been raring at the chance to burst free, knowing it would protect him while he began to heal.

* * *

 **Summary: Steve and Maria talk during a mandated break. Tony uses combat gauze to stem the bleeding in his side, then tries to weaponize the parts of his suit without the New Order noticing. Bucky sacrifices his shirt to bandage his leg and evaluates his options for escaping.**

 **Thanks for all your reviews and subscriptions! I hope you enjoyed the update!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: This chapter was written before I saw the _Infinity War_. The conversation with Ross is similar to what we saw but is completely coincidental. That being said, it was very hard for me to not edit in a 'I'm way past asking permission' after the fact.**

* * *

"You have reached the voicemail box of…"

Rhodey scowled as his Air Force contact didn't pick up—again. He left a quick message, being sure to emphasize the importance of the situation, before he let his phone smack against the table in frustration.

A split second later, his phone began to ring, sending Rhodey scrambling to accept the call. He was hoping for some good news, either from one of his contacts or those who were out in the field, but when he saw the unsaved number onscreen, his scowl only deepened.

"Steve, you need to go," he announced.

On the other side of the room, Steve spun around in his chair, visibly ready to protest.

"It's Ross," Rhodey interjected before Steve had a chance to speak. He was hoping for at least a small bit of cooperation on this front, but Steve just shook his head.

"I'm not hiding from him," the supersoldier stated, leaving the ' _Not with what's at stake_ 'unsaid.

Rhodey cursed under his breath. "Then let me handle it." He didn't wait for a response from Steve before sliding his fingers over the rear-facing camera and accepting the video call.

"Did I hear correctly that you've lost Tony Stark?" Ross demanded as soon as his face appeared onscreen.

"He was taken by—" Rhodey tried to correct, but Ross continued as if Rhodey hadn't spoken.

"We've seen the footage. When were you going to contact us?"

"As soon as we had a viable lead." That wasn't untrue, but the 'viable lead' Rhodey had been hoping for was an exact location, not just a series of facts about the New Order's leader and useless social media posts.

Ross' eyes narrowed. "We _who_?"

"Myself, Agent Hill, Miss Potts." The lie slipped smoothly off Rhodey's tongue. He didn't look up, not wanting to clue in Ross, but out of the corner of his eye, Rhodey could see Steve sitting quietly with his arms crossed over his chest while he glared daggers at Rhodey's phone.

"Not a certain supersoldier interested in getting his long-time friend back?" Ross stared directly at the webcam, his eyebrows raised in challenge.

Rhodey was in the process of shaking his head when his phone was ripped out of his hand.

"What do you want, Ross?" Steve snarled, holding the phone in front of his face.

"Captain." Even from his seated position, Rhodes could see the shift in Ross' smarmy expression. "So good to have you back stateside."

"Tell me what you want, or let me get back to finding Stark. I don't have time for small talk."

"Are you aware of the number of laws you're breaking being back here? I could have you court-martialed."

"You could," Steve agreed with a tip of his head. "But you'd have one less person looking for Stark. Given what you have at stake, I'm not sure that's a chance you can take."

Ross leaned toward the camera, his eyes flashing in anger. "Are you threatening me, Captain?"

"No, sir. I'm telling you the facts. If you want Stark back alive, the collective Avengers are your best chance."

Suddenly Rhodey's phone beeped, indicating another person had been added to the video call. A second later, Pepper appeared onscreen, sitting at her desk at SI while glowering into the camera of her StarkPhone. "If you don't do absolutely everything in your power to get Tony back, General," she began, her tone level and very matter-of-fact, "I can assure you I will bring the full wrath of SI and its shareholders down on you, your family, and anyone else who stands in our way."

Rhodey stifled a grin at seeing Ross squirm, knowing how much a living hell he'd made Tony's life in the last few months.

Ross was quiet for a brief second then nodded. "You find him and Barnes and you get out of the States, you hear me Rogers?" he spat unhappily.

Steve didn't even acknowledge Ross and just swiped up on the General's avatar to kick him off the call.

"You know, that was a lot more satisfying when you could slam a phone into its cradle," he commented as he handed the phone back to Rhodey.

Still onscreen, Pepper smiled weakly. "Any news?" she then asked.

Rhodey shook his head. "How did you know Ross was calling?"

"Maria texted me. Said it was critical I dial in."

"I'm glad you did," Steve replied. "Now he's off our back for a while."

Pepper nodded then looked directly into the camera at Rhodey. "I can come back," she offered but Rhodey shook his head. Since Tony and Barnes' abduction wasn't public knowledge yet, Pepper was in the unfortunate position of having to carry on her day like nothing was amiss.

"No, stay there. We need it to look like everything is business as usual."

Pepper nodded unhappily and insisted on more frequent updates before ending the call.

Rhodey put his phone down and looked over at Steve, who had walked back to the far side of the conference room and was once again quickly and efficiently clearing the posts FRIDAY was sending him. No one was more surprised than Rhodey himself to find his anger at Steve for leaving was waning with the understanding of just how much Steve was risking to find their friends.

* * *

Tony looked up from the gauntlet he'd been pretending to reassemble. In reality, he was just making it less and less usable. He'd scienced this away when Guard Two had asked, saying the pieces were meant to interlock so he had to undo them in order to put them back together properly. To limit suspicion, Tony had then arranged the suit pieces in their proper places and had been slowly putting some of the minor pieces together.

He'd spent quite a bit of time on the gauntlets, deconstructing them in a way that would be fairly simple for him to assemble later on—assuming he and Barnes could get back into this room. He was careful though to make the assembly convoluted enough that the average Hydra worker wouldn't be able to weaponize them in his absence.

But none of those preparations would matter if Tony couldn't get any power to the arc. After thirty minutes of charging, the reactor looked as lifeless as the one in his display case at home. He'd suspected it had been seriously damaged from the start, but had been half-heartedly hoping it could be revived.

Apparently today was not his day, which was a realization made worse by the pressure building in his abdomen. Tony pressed a hand to his duct-taped side and fervently hoped that he hadn't reopened his wound while fiddling with his suit.

He half-considered pulling the rebar out before he picked up some sort of infection from whatever had been on the rebar before it'd entered his abdomen, but then decided against it. He would most likely end up with him on an operating table at the compound under hands he absolutely didn't trust. It wasn't an experience he wanted to repeat.

But, given the way his reflexes were slowing down and how his head was starting to hurt as he focused harder on the suit, he understood that his body was struggling to both keep him awake and begin to mend his side. He wasn't going to last much longer, which forced him to reveal the dead arc reactor to the guards.

"You'd better find a way to fix it," was Guard Two's nonplussed response.

"I can't."

Guard Two rose slightly from the chair, causing Tony to hold out one hand defensively. With the other, he pointed to the unlit arc reactor. "That's the battery the suit runs on. It's completely dead and you don't have the tools for me to build another one."

"What do you need?"

Under no circumstance was Tony going to tell them the true metal in the arc reactor. "Rhodium," he replied, knowing it was one of the rarest metals on earth and would thus be difficult (but not impossible) to acquire. That last bit was important as it gave his answer a bit of credence. ".15 grams. I'm also going to need a soldering station, smelting cups, and a bunch of other heavy equipment you obviously don't have around here."

Guard Two's eyes flicked up to the screen where Barnes was leaning against the wall, seemingly asleep, and Tony recognized the threat for what it was.

"You can't run the suit without its battery," he repeated. "Maybe I can strip the small arms out, but the suit as a whole is toast." He hated the concession but knew it was necessary. The small missiles he could retrieve from the shoulders of the suit would do considerably less damage than the gauntlets or thrusters of a functioning suit, but would also technically be giving the New Order what they wanted. As much as Tony hated the idea of the New Order having any of his weapons at all, he knew he could track down the smaller weapons by their unique signature later on.

Without warning, Guard Two shot up from the stool, and Tony's head whipped around as pain exploded in his cheek. He crashed into the legs of the suit as a rather impressive fireworks show danced on the backs of his eyelids.

Then, hands were on his undersuit, pulling his upper body into the air.

"You knew this from the start!" a voice bellowed in his ear.

"I… tried," Tony slurred out. As he came back to himself, he struggled against the grip, but the man just shook him harder, snapping his head forward and back. His side was burning and he felt a warm liquid dripping down his hip.

The hands holding him disappeared and Tony smacked into the unforgiving tile. Pain lanced up his arm and through his back, briefly pulling him back into consciousness.

Something black flashed in his line of sight and Tony tried to get up a hand to stop it, but his body was moving too slow. The object easily pushed away his hands and connected full-force with Tony's jaw.

He was unconscious before his brain even registered the pain.

* * *

Bucky heard the footsteps in the hallway but didn't react, except for a slight tensing of his upper body. He'd have a chance to run once the door was open. Since he didn't have to punch through metal in this scenario, his flesh hand would be intact, so he could secure a weapon, find Stark, then burn this place to the ground.

The footsteps ceased outside the door and something large slid to a stop not long after—if that sound was what Bucky thought it was, he had serious problems. Until he knew for sure though, he remained ready to make a fast a move as he knew how.

He was on his feet and charging the door the second it swung open. His metal arm was bracketed against his ribs while his flesh shoulder led the way, ready to ram whoever stood in his path. As he ran, Bucky noted to see two guards standing in the doorway with Tony hanging limply between them. He scanned for a weapon and, when he didn't find one, he set his jaw and continued forward.

He barely made it another few steps before white-hot fire raced up his metal arm. He fought harder than should have been humanly possible to keep going but eventually, his body gave out and he smacked into the concrete, twitching like a live wire.

"The great Winter Soldier!" one of the men shouted, seconds before a harsh kick slammed into the wound in Bucky's thigh.

His vision whited out but he somehow found the awareness to kick out at the shape closest to him. That guard crumpled to the ground with a dislocated knee, swearing up a storm and almost taking Stark, who he was still holding in the air, with him. Though blurry vision, Bucky saw a redheaded guard assume Stark's weight, which put him off-balance.

Bucky gathered his remaining strength and forced himself to his feet, only to crash back down a second later when the cuff lit up again.

"Stay down," he vaguely heard someone say, as he convulsed on the ground. He was barely aware of someone being lowered to the ground next to him before the door slammed closed and the band went dark.

He had no idea how much time had passed before he came back to himself. As soon as he could move again, he dragged himself over to Stark, and carefully felt for his carotid with shaking fingers.

A pulse was there, thankfully—uneven and weak but there.

Bucky held his hand in place for a few more beats, just in case what he thought was a heartbeat was merely an after-effect of the electricity, but even after his hand stopped shaking, he still felt the slow beat against his fingers.

He took in the bruising on Stark's jaw and the oozing cut on his cheek, then looked down at the swath of duct tape wrapped around Stark's abdomen. Bucky carefully palpated Stark's right side and was relieved to feel the hard head of the rebar beneath the tape.

He breathed a soft sigh of relief for two reasons: first, Stark hadn't been subjected to another non-consensual operation, an experience which caused the seam between Bucky's shoulder and the metal arm to ache in sympathy, but, more importantly, Bucky hadn't been lying when he'd ordered the group to not remove the rebar—he'd seen and inflicted that injury one too many times to know that the seal between the tacky blood and the wound was probably the only thing keeping Stark from bleeding out. That didn't mean leaving the rebar in wasn't opening Stark up to a host of other issues, but infections were survivable. Massive internal bleeding definitely wasn't.

If the temperature of Stark's skin was anything to go by, his body was fighting the rebar, which meant they were running out of time.

Thankfully, Stark didn't appear to be injured anywhere else, which meant he was still relatively mobile. Bucky could work with that.

"Stark," he hissed as he withdrew his hand and sat back, just out of Stark's reach.

"Tony!" he tried again when the inventor still didn't stir. Barnes extended his left leg to tap Stark's ankle, but before he could make contact, Stark's eyes slid drowsily open.

"Not on...a first name...b'sis," he slurred as his unfocused eyes stared at the ceiling.

"I'll keep that in mind." Mindful of the last few times Stark had awakened, Barnes refrained from reaching out while Stark braced one hand against his side and used the other to slowly lever himself onto his left elbow. He was shaking so badly though that, after a brief moment, Barnes found himself needing to at least _offer_ aid. Stark wasn't going to do either of them any good if he tore open his side trying to sit up. "Do you—"

"No," Stark snapped. He pulled in a sharp inhale then managed to push himself into a sitting position.

Bucky gave him a moment, to ride out the wave of pain he was sure was present, before speaking up again. "What happened?"

"They wanted me to fix my suit." Stark let his head loll to the right and spat out a mouthful of blood. "From my mouth," he explained, almost passively, referring to the source of the blood.

"And?" Bucky prompted when Stark's gaze unfocused slightly.

"It's dead as a doornail… which's a stupid expression… when you think about it…" Stark then trailed off, staring intently at the duct tape wrapped around his side.

"So now what?"

"No idea." Stark suddenly looked up, making a considerable effort to focus on Bucky. "We have to get out of here," he mumbled, barely louder than a whisper.

Frustration surged within Bucky at the obvious statement. It wasn't as if they were both sitting here idly; they just hadn't been presented with a valid option for escape yet.

Bucky forced himself not to fire off a snappy retort: it wouldn't do anyone any good at this point anyway. Instead, he took another look around the room, hoping to see something he'd missed earlier.

"I had a screwdriver," Stark said softly. "Must've taken it off've me 'fore they brought me back."

"We'll find something else." Bucky braced himself on his flesh arm and pushed himself to his hand and feet. His thigh throbbed and his leg almost buckled, but he managed to keep himself upright. He struggled over to the wall and began a thorough inspection of the reinforced concrete. It was definitely not an optimal escape route, given the damage that would be incurred to get through it, but with Stark's condition declining, they were running out of options.

"You're bleeding," Stark said a beat later.

Bucky could feel the warmth running down the side of his leg and, up until that point, had chosen to ignore it. Anything that had healed during his 'rest' had definitely been undone by his failed escape attempt. "It'll be fine," he replied, rather unconvincingly, as his bullet wound throbbed with greater intensity.

He heard a dragging sound from behind him and looked over his shoulder to see Stark dragging himself toward a wall at a snail's pace. Given his earlier insistence, Bucky allowed him to struggle on his own, while he returned to examining the room. Unfortunately, no section of concrete seemed any weaker than the rest.

Learning slightly on the wall, he rounded the corner and continued with the shorter width wall. He gave Stark a wide berth as he passed where the inventor was slumped, breathing hard, hand pressed tight against his abdomen.

"You bleeding again?" Bucky asked, keeping his head away from the camera.

Stark didn't immediately respond, which had Bucky incredibly worried. Sure the man had tried to kill him in Siberia, but given what Bucky had done, he didn't blame Stark. He didn't remember all his kills in detail, as he'd alluded to in bunker, but that didn't matter. The flashes of bodies, of smoking weapons, of bloody knives, sometimes faces he couldn't name was enough. Complete mind-control was something he'd only read about as a kid and it was taking him a long time, even with the help of the Wakandan doctors, to come to terms with what he'd done under it.

"Stark!" Bucky hissed again. When he still didn't receive an answer, he hobbled over to the inventor and crouched beside him, hand reaching for a pulse. Just before he made contact, Stark jerked away from him, releasing a slew of expletives in the process.

The meaning was clear and Bucky backed up a few uneven steps. "I just wanted to make sure you were still breathing," he said, slowly, levelly, far out of arm's reach.

"Yup," was the only response he received. From what Bucky had garnered, that meant Stark was in much worse shape than he was letting on. He wasn't exactly sure how long they'd been here but hunger was probably setting in for Stark, which, if left untreated, would make any escape plan significantly more complicated. Bucky had learned long ago to ignore the signals his body was sending him and to stay focused on the mission; he only hoped Stark had never had to endure the same.

But then that meant somehow acquiring food.

Bucky straightened up then hobbled to the door and banged on it as hard as he could. "If you want your meal ticket to make it through the night, we need some food and first aid supplies."

He heard Stark scoff behind his back but didn't allow himself to look back. It was cruel to play on Stark's weakness, but if someone arrived with supplies, it could provide them a potential escape possibility. If not, then they'd have a way of prolonging their survival until a better opportunity presented itself… hopefully one which involved getting the cuff off his arm.

When there was no response, Bucky pounded on the door again and repeated his request, but heard no footsteps or any other acknowledgement on the far side. He waited there until his leg wobbled, at which point he sank to the floor and tightened the knots in his T-shirt tourniquet.

"I can handle myself," Stark spoke up from the far side of the room.

 _I know_ _,_ Bucky wanted to say. But he couldn't say that without exposing his entire plan (not that it was that great in the first place) to the camera. So, after considering his responses, he settled on, "Trust me, okay?"

Stark recoiled as if he'd been shot and Bucky didn't blame him—unfortunately Stark didn't have the luxury of such a choice.

Before the shock disappeared from Tony's expression, Bucky heard footsteps in the hallway and stood up, bracing himself for a fight. Unfortunately, before the door opened, the band around his arm was activated and he collapsed to the ground as pain seized control of every one of his nerve endings.

He fought hard to maintain his focus and managed to tilt his head back far enough to see two men go for Stark, who had one hand raised defensively. Barnes reached out slightly before another wave of electricity tore through him. With this wave, his injured leg banged into the ground and he lost control of his senses.

When he came to, Barnes saw a man in a ski mask pressing a gun to the back of Tony's head—Tony who was now secured to a chair, Tony who was glaring defiantly at the door, despite the blood running into his eyes from a new cut over his brow.

With some effort, Bucky followed Stark's gaze to the doorway where a second man stood, holding what took Bucky a long few seconds to recognize as a video camera.

"It's time to have a little chat," the guard announced, as the red light in the front of the camera flickered on.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi all! I knew I was going to miss last week's regularly scheduled update, so I posted two chapters the week before. If you didn't get the notifications, make sure you read those two first; otherwise, this chapter isn't going to make much sense. We should be back to our regular updating schedule for the remainder of the fic.**

 **Warning: The injuries are going to get worse before they get better. This particular chapter has a lot of 'worse', but a majority of the injuries happen off-camera. We are at the halfway point in the fic, though, so things will start to get better in the very near future.**

 **Thanks for your kind comments and notifications!**

* * *

"Agent Hill?"

Maria looked away from the live stream of Barton interrogating the twenty-sixth New Order member and up toward the ceiling, where the voice had come from. "Yes, FRIDAY?"

"I have something I believe you need to see."

"What is it?" Steve asked. He pushed away from his station and stood, as if ready to confront a physical threat.

"Mr. Stark is receiving a Skype call from an unknown number."

"Put it on," Maria ordered as she turned in her seat to face the east wall of the room. A projector screen was already speeding toward the ground, blanketing the wall of news and camera feeds in solid white. Two audible clicks later, the Skype call appeared on it, and the room collectively gasped as the video shifted into focus.

Tony Stark was sitting in a metal chair on the left side of the screen. A man in a ski mask stood behind him, training a gun on the back of Tony's head. Tony was bleeding from numerous injuries on his face and had a swath of duct tape wrapped around his stomach; it was obviously hiding another, more serious injury, and was most likely the source of all the blood in the parking garage.

Another hooded man stood over Bucky Barnes, who was curled up in the bottom right corner, struggling to breathe as his limbs twitched sporadically.

Maria had barely a second to be relieved Pepper wasn't here before Steve was standing by her side. "What do you want?" he demanded, his voice low and deadly.

"An Iron Man suit," a gravelly voice replied. Given the large projection screen, it was easy to see that neither of the two masked men in frame had spoken, which meant there was a third man in that room behind the camera.

Careful to keep her upper body still and her concentration on the screen, Maria subtly slid her hand into her pocket and tapped out a text to Natasha: _Skyp Stark acct Trac_

"Six two, one-eighty, redhea—," Barnes shouted before a band around his metal arm danced blue, and he writhed on the ground in silent but obvious pain.

Tony sat silently on his side of the room, pointedly avoiding looking at Barnes. It was a ploy right out of SHIELD's training manuals, designed to decouple interest in the two and to eliminate any potential leverage.

"Enough," Steve stated as his eyes flashed and his fists tightened by his side. There was no doubt he was heard on the other side of the call, but the shocks continued for a five long seconds before they finally ceased.

The second guard then bent down and pressed his gun into Barnes' forehead. "Do not speak again," he warned.

The strength of Barnes' glare was rather impressive, given his current condition, but he didn't finish the rest of his description.

"Don't."

Upon hearing Tony's voice, everyone's eyes shot back to the left side of screen. The masked man behind Tony looked over at the camera, then handed his gun to someone off-screen before punching Tony in the cheek.

"The Iron Man suit," the man behind the camera repeated as Tony's head whipped around. "The one Mr. Stark came in with is damaged beyond repair."

"Don—" Tony slurred again, his gaze glassy and unfocused. He managed to right his neck just in time to get slugged in the jaw from the other direction.

Tony needn't have worried about Maria giving the New Order an Iron Man suit—under no circumstance was she prepared to give them a weapon of that magnitude. But before she told the New Order that, she needed another plan, something that would buy them some time without causing further injury to either Tony or Barnes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Steve staring stonily at the screen, which she knew meant he was racing through options at speeds she couldn't imagine. He hadn't spoken yet, which meant he hadn't landed on a useful one.

She had just turned her attention to Rhodes, when he wheeled up to the front of the room and faced the camera. "We can't give you a suit," he stated.

"Then you will watch your teammates suffer."

The masked man on the left grinned then punched Tony in the stomach. Tony actually cried out this time and sagged forward, caught only by the duct tape securing his wrists to the arms of the chair.

There was a commotion on the right side of the screen and everyone's focus snapped over to Barnes, who was holding his flesh hand up to his shoulder, like he was trying to show he meant no harm. He hadn't moved the rest of himself though, and was still glaring daggers at the man training a gun on him.

"What did you say?" the man behind the camera demanded.

"Hurt me instead."

Maria didn't have to look at Steve to know his jaw was clenching with enough force to disintegrate his teeth.

The man behind the camera didn't immediately respond, giving Barnes a chance to continue. "Stark's already bleeding out. You're going to need him to show you how to work the suit."

"Hear that?" the man on the left said as he pulled back Tony's hair and punched him again. "He thinks you're weak."

Tony was barely conscious and visibly struggling to keep his eyes open. "Can take… it," he slurred. Then, with a surprising jolt of alacrity, he spit a mouthful of blood at the guard holding him. The guard recoiled on instinct, allowing Tony to kick at his groin.

On the right side of the screen, Barnes was in motion as well. He smacked the gun away from his head, then drove his elbow into the solar plexus of the man crouching over him. He followed that with a blow to man's face that definitely shattered his nose, before leaping at the man holding the camera.

It crashed to the ground, allowing the viewers to see one last shot of more people surging into the room, before someone cried out in pain and the call ended.

* * *

Maria was on her cell phone a split second later. "Did you get a trace?"

"Not yet," Romanoff responded. "We locked onto the signal but it's bouncing around the globe. Haven't found any place in the States yet."

"Can you crack it?"

"With some help from the techs, yeah. It's just going to take some time."

"Pull whoever you need." Maria didn't wait for an answer before disconnecting the call.

As she did so, she overheard Steve asking FRIDAY to play the video again. She knew a high-quality copy of the video existed—thanks to a standard SI contract, all group meetings and calls through work machines and accounts were recorded—but she wasn't sure Steve was the one who should be rewatching it. Ideally, someone a little less connected to this situation would be able to find something the rest of them missed.

She told Steve as much but he just shook his head, not once tearing his eyes away from the screen.

"If they left us a message, we're the best people to be watching it," he replied dully. "We have to check."

Maria was more than a little surprised by Rhodes' lack of a retort, but then again, given the condition his friend was in and the fact that Barnes had volunteered to be a punching bag in Tony's stead, she wasn't surprised they had started to put their differences behind them.

The video began playing onscreen, and Steve paused it the second the footage stabilized. "Bucky's got something on his arm," he stated, stepping closer to the screen until his face was about a foot away.

"We can discuss where exactly he got that arm another day," Rhodes replied as he rolled closer to the screen as well, "but it looks like it was shocking him. It'll make escaping difficult unless they block the signal or remove it."

Steve nodded absently. Then, he made a hand signal and the video rolled forward. "He's been beaten," he commented once the camera settled on a livid Barnes glaring daggers at the man who was holding a gun to his head. Barnes had lost both his combat top and undershirt, which left the full array of colors on his chest and abdomen on display.

"So has Tony." It wasn't said petulantly, just matter-of-fact.

"That's next watch."

The tape played for another minute before Steve paused it, just as Barnes leapt at the camera. "And he has some sort of leg injury," he stated, pointing at the remains of Barnes' undershirt wrapped around his thigh.

"Not ideal," was all Maria said. Despite the fact that Barnes' leg didn't seem to be giving him any immediate trouble, it was a serious wound, which, as Rhodes already said, would limit possible escape plans. Between Tony's abdominal injury and Barnes' leg, any sort of long-distance rescue was no longer an option.

Steve scrubbed backward to the beginning of the video, but this time, he stepped left and focused on Tony's side of the screen.

He paused the video as soon as it settled on Tony and examined his friend. "That's a serious wound no matter what caused it," Steve commented, tilting his head at the duct tape around Tony's middle. "And the bruises on his face are all wrong for damage from the suit. He sustained those after."

Steve glanced over at Rhodes, who, after a long moment, nodded his confirmation. "But he wasn't tortured."

"How do you know?"

Rhodes then rolled over to where Steve was standing and pointed up at Tony's right hand. It was taped to the chair at the wrist, but the index and middle fingers were protruding, the other three bent down a little more. "We have this code… from after the first time. Fist means truly fine, just being used as leverage; index up means he's being actively tortured; two fingers is injured in another manner."

As logical as that explanation was, Maria really hated that she understood the difference.

The three of them watched the video one more time without interruption, looking for any identifying marks about the room, or the guards. Unfortunately, no new leads were found.

As if on cue, Maria's phone dinged and she looked down to see a message from Agent Hardison. "I have a team pulling the audio to match a vocal print," she announced. "They're all NDA'd so we won't see it on the news."

Steve nodded, then turned to face Rhodes. "What do you know about Tony's new suit?" he asked.

"Why?" Rhodes' tone was a touch defensive, but to his credit, he hid it well.

Steve either hadn't noticed the change or didn't care. "Are they telling the truth about it being damaged beyond repair?"

Some of the edge in Rhodes' expression faded. "They might be," he replied after a beat. "Or it's a plot of Tony's to throw them off."

Steve dragged his finger backward along the bottom of the screen until a clear frame of Tony appeared. "If he's hurt that bad, the suit must have taken some damage—the question is whether or not it's still usable."

Rhodes stared at Tony's injury for a moment and did some mental adjustments to the portions of his own suit. "If the damage was localized to the abdomen, it might still be flyable. But it also depends on whether the New Order was careful taking the suit off. It could be in pieces." He looked up at the ceiling. "FRIDAY?"

"I don't have enough information to make a valid conclusion," she responded almost instantly.

"If you had to guess?"

FRIDAY was quiet for a long moment then said, "Given the limitations of my current data and the location of Mr. Stark's injury, I would say there is a reasonable chance the suit would be functional. But it will most likely require some work from Mr. Stark to become that way."

"I'll have a team start looking at scenarios," Maria said as she ticked off the names of SHIELD support staff in her chat window for their new assignment. She instructed them to focus on manned rescues, but diverted two to focus on scenarios where Tony and Barnes found time with the suit and, maybe even, got it fully working.

* * *

By the time Maria was done getting her new team spun up, Steve had drifted back to his corner of the room, where he was still reviewing the video but at a quieter volume, and Rhodey had finished drafting a text to Pepper. In the end, he'd left out all the details from the video, and just said Tony was confirmed alive but still missing.

After sending it, Rhodey returned to evaluating their options. There was no way he could give the New Order a suit—Tony would never forgive him if his invention was used for that purpose—but maybe they could move into more liquid assets. Sure, it wasn't ideal to give this group money, but it was far easier to trace and protect against than a functioning Iron Man suit.

Rhodey would spend every cent Tony had liquid if it meant getting his friend back.

He didn't have to ask Maria to know she, and new SHIELD, would oppose his plan, so he pulled out his phone again and sent a chat to the smart table Steve was working at. _I need you to trust me when they call back_ , he typed out. _Let me do all the talking._

Thankfully, Steve didn't physically acknowledge that he'd received a message, and instead subtly tapped out a response. _We can't give them a suit_.

 _I know. I have a plan. Can't explain, too many eyes._

 _Okay_. Then a beat later, _I trust you, James. Always have_.

Rhodey was too emotionally wrung out to figure out how to respond to that. In lieu of a choice, he just deleted the chat, knowing FRIDAY would remove its history from all servers.

* * *

Seven minutes and fifteen seconds after that, Rhodey heard a familiar jingle of an incoming Skype call, and wheeled back to the front of the room.

As the video appeared on the screen, Rhodey's breath caught in his throat. Tony was now cuffed to a chair, this time both wrists and ankles. There was more duct tape around his middle, which wrapped around the back of the chair as well.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Rhodey couldn't help feeling proud of Tony for continuing to fight, despite the enormous pain he knew Tony must be in from his side wound—not that his friend had ever been a quitter, Afghanistan had proven that, but that after everything that had happened, the Civil War, the Accords, all of it—at his core, his friend still hadn't changed.

Almost instantly, the pride was tempered by a wave of extreme concern. Tony's head was lolling against his chest and his fingers were hanging limply from the arms of the chair, leaving Rhodey with no indication that he was still conscious. Rhodey scanned his friend again, but wasn't able to ascertain much more information from Tony's currently slumped position.

He then shifted his gaze to the right side of the screen, where Barnes was secured to a thicker, heavier chair with wide metal bands around his wrists and ankles; Rhodey had seen those restraints a handful of times on various Hydra base raids and knew they were designed to restrain a supersoldier. Barnes was considerably more bloody than the last time Rhodey had seen him, his face and a good portion of his bruised chest now coated in red.

Despite his new injuries, Barnes was still conscious and was glaring threateningly at the guards, who were standing between him and Tony.

"Welcome back," the man behind the camera said cheerfully, just before the guard on the right stepped forward and belted Bucky across the jaw.

The metal table at the Compound developed a new dent in its top but, true to his word, Steve stayed silent.

"Are you ready to negotiate, Avengers?" the man asked as Barnes spat out a mouthful of blood.

Rhodey's gaze flicked to the left side of the screen but Tony still hadn't so much as twitched. "We can't give you a suit," he responded, tensing for what he knew would happen next.

Barnes doubled over as he was struck in the abdomen and it took him a beat longer than it had previously to straighten up. Then, he snorted slightly, rolled his neck left and right, and stared directly into the camera. "I can do this all day," he rasped, right before taking another hit to the chest.

Behind Rhodey, Steve made a strangled sound, but didn't intervene.

"If we do not get an Iron Man suit, your teammates die," the man behind the camera repeated.

"There are no suits to give," Rhodey said, with a Herculean effort to keep the frustration out of his tone. "The last working one was destroyed six months ago; the rest were blown up after the Mandarin." It wasn't entirely true, but they needed to eliminate an Iron Man suit as a possibility; otherwise, the New Order was never going to settle for Rhodey's counter offer.

"You're lying."

A knife appeared out of nowhere and embedded itself in Barnes' hand. He reared back as much as his restraints allowed, his breaths coming in short, pained, but stifled gasps.

Rhodey kept staring at the webcam, not wanting to see Steve's reaction, even peripherally. He had to be collected, in charge, and seemingly indifferent if his plan had any chance of working.

"No," Rhodey continued as calmly as he could, even though Tony hadn't shifted _at all_ during any of the latest action. "I'm not."

"Your friend's life is at stake, and you're lying to me?"

" _Because_ my friend's life is at stake, I'm telling you the truth. There are no suits to give." As the masked men tensed, Rhodey played his trump card. "All I can offer is money."

"Rhodes!" Maria snapped but Rhodey held up his hand and continued. "Let's be reasonable and come to an agreement. How much do you want?"

Without a response from the New Order, the feed cut to black.

"Don't!" Rhodey interjected before Maria could speak. "We can track money—large buys, material sales. But we can't track a suit, and we can't continue to do nothing while they're being tortured."

Maria glared at him, visibly unhappy with the lack of options; a moment later, however, she mumbled something under her breath that was probably not flattering but didn't make any other objections.

* * *

It was twenty-three long minutes before the third Skype call came in. During this time, Steve had enlarged the crater in the metal table during repeated viewings of the video. His jaw was clenched, his face blank, and the rest of his body was all angles; the Captain exuded tension from every joint, bone and pore.

Maria had checked in with the various teams and found out that Asia had been eliminated as the original of the Skype video, that the voice matches hadn't returned any hits, and that the scenarios team was really just getting dug in.

Rhodey had watched both videos twice more, focusing solely on Tony, but was unable to see any more hidden messages. As far as he could tell, his friend was well and truly unconscious, but thankfully not in any significantly worse condition in the second call than he had been in the first one.

Maria waited only one ring before answering the Skype call.

This time, as the footage cleared, both Tony and Barnes were unconscious. Their heads were drooping against their barely moving chests, while blood dripped slowly down the metal legs of the chair.

Rhodey had only a second to confirm that Tony was in fact still breathing, before the man behind the camera spoke up again.

"One hundred million. We don't want to be unreasonable given the time constraint."

"Which is?"

"One hour."

"It will take me longer than that to get the money together," Rhodey said. He heard a commotion on camera and, as one of the men in ski masks stepped threateningly forward, he quickly added, "We have it, it's just not liquid."

"How long do you think you need?" the man who had stepped in front of the camera sneered. His voice was different than the first man's, higher and slightly accented.

"We can do get the money in two. Then add however long it will take us to get it to a meet."

"Fine." The masked man looked up over the camera for a moment then nodded. "Three hours then. Leave a car on the first floor of the 5th St. parking structure in Ely with the cash in the back. Crack the rear driver's side window so we know which one it is and leave the key in the visor."

Then he leaned forward so his face filled the entire screen. "Any trackers on the car, your friends die. We see any tails on the way out, your friends die. You do anything to double-cross us and your friends die. After we have the money, we'll call you with your friends' coordinates."

"No," Rhodey interjected and the camera dipped toward the ground.

"No?" the man scoffed, once the camera had righted itself.

"There's no guarantee Stark and Barnes will be alive," Rhodey said, pointedly ignoring how his heart was pounding against his ribs. "Half in Ely, half at the secondary location after we have both Stark and Barnes alive."

"Do you understand the game you're playing…"

"I'm just trying to make sure everyone gets what they want."

There was silence on the Skype call, punctuated only by uneven breathing from Barnes and Tony.

"Fine," the man said a beat later. "Fifty million dollars in three hours. Don't be late."

The minute the call ended, Steve turned to Rhodey. "What can I do?" he asked, his voice strained and his expression deadly.

Rhodey cycled through a dozen snarky responses before the gravity of the situation won out. "Figure out how we're going to trace that cash," he replied as he threw his cell phone into his lap then wheeled himself out the door. "I'll be back as soon as I have the money."

He rolled into another conference room, locked the door behind him, then ordered FRIDAY to shield the room.

It was time to call Pepper.


	7. Chapter 7

"It will take me some time to get it all together," Pepper's voice said. "But the amount won't be a problem."

Maria looked up from her slew of screens to find Pepper's face projected on the screen of the main conference room that not long ago had held the video of Stark and Barnes. Rhodey was sitting at the back of the room, holding up his StarkPhone, which was beaming this new video call to the dropdown screen.

Pepper tapped on her own phone for a minute then looked up at her computer's webcam. "How should I get the cash to you?"

"Barton and Romanoff will swing by the Tower," Maria said as she shifted gears to the plan she and the situations team had drafted, "or to whatever bank you need. They're in the area running down some leads on the New Order."

Pepper nodded then asked, "What happens after that?"

Maria had been ready to tell Pepper the rest of their plan when Rhodes interjected, "I'll take the cash to the drop—"

Maria looked over at Rhodes in surprise but he continued as if he hadn't seen her.

"—then we try to covertly follow whoever picks it up back to their base. We can't interfere until we know Tony and Barnes are safe."

It was basically the plan Maria and the situations team had come up with, but even though she hadn't had a chance to share it with Rhodes or Steve yet, she wasn't surprised they'd come to their own conclusion about how the drop was going to happen. Realistically, it wasn't like they had a lot of options, not while Stark and Barnes' location was still unknown.

Pepper nodded again, but this time her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'll make some calls." Then she looked over at Rhodes' side of the screen. "Let me know if anything changes?"

"Always."

Steve had been awfully quiet since the call from the New Order had ended, which was why Maria wasn't surprised he spoke up the second the projector screen faded to black.

"I'm going to the drop," he announced as he rose to his feet.

"Hell no," Rhodes retorted, before Maria had even opened her mouth to voice her own objection. "You're far too exposed."

"If it's a trap, I'm the best one who can handle it," Steve explained, calmly and levelly. "You can't send Vision and, no offense, Rhodes, but the Iron Patriot armor is a little bit conspicuous. I can blend in, do the drop, and then follow him to his base."

He raised a valid point, which left Maria reconsidering her options. The New Order hadn't specified who should be at the drop but Steve was right in assuming the whole situation was likely a plot to abduct an additional Avenger and obtain $50 million in the process. That being said, Maria preferred sending someone less well-known, so as not to draw undue attention to the situation; Steve's face had been blasted over the news for months following the Leipzig incident, which meant he had the greatest chance of being recognized. She considered sending an agent, but knew they wouldn't necessarily be prepared to defend against the New Order's Chitauri tech like an Avenger would be. So, she ran down the shortlist of superheroes she had available and landed on Barton, who had a knack for avoiding the public spotlight, even after the Leipzig incident, or again Steve, who was far more resilient than the rest of them, even in plainclothes.

"Steve will go," she announced. Rhodes spun around, ready to protest, but Maria held up her hand. "But he will _just_ make the drop. Barton and Romanoff will be two blocks away from the garage and will follow whoever picks up the van."

"Then, I'm going with," Rhodes insisted, crossing his arms over his chest and straightening up as much as he could in his chair.

"You're not," Maria countered. "I want you and your suit ready to go when we lock on a location or the New Order sends us Barnes' and Stark's coordinates. Our first priority is getting them out safely. You and Vision are the best options."

Rhodey opened his mouth, scowled, then after a long minute, closed it and nodded. "Fine. But for the record, I hate this plan."

"Duly noted." Maria looked down at her tablet and pulled up a traffic app. "The garage in Ely is a thirty-minute flight from here," she reported a beat later. "Rogers, we'll have you rendezvous outside the city with the Barton and Romanoff, then drive the van in. That way they stay out of any surveillance the New Order might set-up around the area."

Steve nodded then spun the street view of the drop site he'd brought up on the table screen, so the parking garage was facing Maria. "It's a smart location. Crowded enough to miss the extra traffic but secluded enough to not make a scene." He looked up at Maria. "They've obviously put some time into this site."

"So either it's important to them, or they're familiar with it for other reasons. Either way, it won't hurt to have Barton and Romanoff check it out after changing vehicles."

Steve looked at the location for another moment then turned the map to face Rhodes. "Anything else?" he asked, without a beat of sarcasm in his tone.

Rhodes was still very visibly displeased with this turn of events, which Maria understood, given how close she knew he and Tony were. But, ever the professional, he just took a look at the parking garage and the surrounding buildings. "It should be a fairly simple drop," he said after a long moment. "Publically-accessible roof for Barton—" he pointed to the building across the street. "And a good ground view for Romanoff—" he gestured to the cluster of stores surrounding the parking garage.

Then he looked up at Steve. "It'd be nice to have a third set of eyes in the other direction."

Steve was already pulling out his phone. "Clint and Nat can pick up Sam on the way."

"Have him bring his wings," Maria added as Steve texted the other Avengers. "He can wait there for the coordinates and possibly stake out that location while you," she looked over at Rhodes, "and Vision are en route."

Steve clicked off his phone screen then looked up at the two of them. "Done."

The table screen vibrated and a picture of a spider appeared in the bottom right-hand corner. Maria immediately tapped it, bringing up a video of Romanoff, who appeared to be in the passenger seat of a car with Barton driving.

"We're on our way to the Tower," Romanoff said in lieu of a greeting.

Maria nodded, then proceeded to explain their plan.

"Should we split up while tailing?" Barton asked as soon as she was finished.

"No, both of you are fairly low profile, especially now that Romanoff has her new hairstyle. Besides, we've seen what this group is carrying; I'd rather have the two of you together in case something goes wrong."

"Copy that," said Barton as he pulled the car into a right-hand turn.

"We'll let you know when the cash is ready," Romanoff added before ending the call.

* * *

The Soldier wasn't designed to feel, but Bucky Barnes still did. Turned out, after all those experiments, the Hydra scientists couldn't _quite_ turn off the signals his pain receptors sent to his brain. It had infuriated them, and they'd frequently taken their anger out on him.

Now, as Bucky jolted back into consciousness, he half-wished those scientists had been successful. With the exception of Siberia, he hadn't been in this much pain in a long while; he'd taken it easy during his two years of freedom while he kept his head down and focused on rediscovering what was left of himself. Even after Siberia, he hadn't been in pain for long, since he'd made Steve start an IV of heavy painkillers on the flight to Wakanda, lest he lose control of the Soldier's impulses in mid-air. Then, once they'd landed, the Wakandan doctors had been nothing but eager to find something to ease his pain while they repaired the stump of his arm.

Now though, every part of his body either ached, throbbed or burned. It took great effort, but he pushed past the pain and realized he was sitting in a cold metal chair. On instinct, he jerked his arms forward but cold metal bit into his wrists and held them in place.

That small movement sent a wave of pain rolling through his body, lighting up places Bucky didn't remember being injured. He forced his eyes open and did a quick evaluation, noting bruises where there hadn't been before and the new gash in his hand, which was bleeding at a steady rate. If he concentrated, Bucky remembered volunteering to take Stark's place—because Stark could get the band off his arm but, to do that, Stark had to be conscious and have two working hands. Plus, with the serum humming through his veins, Bucky was more resilient, meaning they'd have a better chance escaping if he took more of the hits—but not much else.

Speaking of Stark…

Bucky swung his head to the right to find Stark still secured to the same chair he'd been in previously, but with more duct tape around his abdomen. His head lolled against his chest and his breathing was raspy and uneven but, from what Bucky could tell when he squinted, Stark's side wasn't bleeding again. It was the smallest of small mercies, but he'd take whatever breaks the universe was handing out.

"Stark," he hissed, but he received no response from the inventor.

Bucky tugged again on his wrists, then tried his ankles, but both efforts were in vain; he was secured to the hard metal chair with a set of thick Hydra-cuffs, which he knew from experience he wouldn't be able to break.

He inhaled deeply then threw his weight to the right, sending the chair skidding a few inches closer to Stark. The sharp collision with the floor with each jerk of the chair set all his injuries ablaze, but he didn't stop until he was close enough to knock at Stark's elbow with his own.

He didn't react.

Bucky then rammed his chair into Stark's, but still didn't get so much as a groan in response.

"Tony!"

Silence.

Bucky whipped his head around and glared at the camera in the far corner. "Your meal ticket isn't responding!" he snapped, gesturing to Stark with a flick of his wrist. The gesture sent his blood splattering over the leg of Stark's undersuit but it was hardly visible against the black fabric.

Regrettably, but somewhat predictably, there was no response from either Stark or the guards.

If it had just been Bucky who had been abducted, he would have waited the guards out, but he owed it to Stark for what he'd done, for who he'd taken away, to find a way out of here sooner. Besides, if they made it out of this, he would never be able to look Steve in the eye if there was something he could have done to save Stark's life but didn't.

So Bucky broke his self-imposed silence and began shouting at the camera—obscenities, colorful descriptions of what he was going to do to the guards once he escaped, anything that had even a promise of getting someone in here and seeing just how poorly Stark was doing. It wasn't Bucky's best plan, considering Hydra could just activate the band on his arm to get him to stop instead of actually entering the room, but it was the only one he had at the moment.

Surprisingly, the band on his arm never lit up, but no guard entered either. Once his throat was rubbed raw from all the shouting, Bucky tried knocking his chair over for a change in leverage, but the cuffs were just as secure from his new position, and no guard appeared to right him.

And so time passed with Bucky resorting to hitting his injured hand against the ground to stay conscious while watching for changes in Stark's condition. Thankfully, Stark continued to breathe somewhat steadily, though Bucky wasn't sure how much longer that would last, given the visible damage to his body.

His own grasp of consciousness was slipping despite his efforts, so he wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard someone outside the door.

"It's about time you bastards," he spat angrily. "You can't use Stark as leverage when he's—"

Electricity seized up his arm and it was only through the sheer force of will that Bucky clung to consciousness. He vaguely heard the sound of someone moving toward Stark, of cuffs clicking free, of duct tape being ripped, of Stark being dragged out of the room, but couldn't make his body react to any of it; all Bucky could focus on was the agony ripping through his body and the burn of his lungs as they failed to bring in oxygen.

When the shocks finally stopped and he'd come back to himself, Bucky realized someone was standing in the room with him. He once again jerked against his restraints, internally cursing as he found himself on the ground still cuffed to the chair, then clamped his mouth closed as his stomach threatened to invert itself. He resorted to glaring daggers at the man standing by the doorway until his equilibrium returned.

The man, however, seemed unaffected and just slowly walked toward Bucky, who, even in his pain-induced haze, recognized the man's cold, calculating stare. It was a look many Hydra scientists had had, a hallmark of someone who saw him as just a semi-successful experiment that could be improved.

"You were never going to let me go," Bucky stated, trying to regain even a smidgen of control over this rapidly worsening situation.

The man shook his head.

"My friends aren't going to be too happy about that. You're not going to get whatever you asked for."

"We already have."

Bucky's heart sank down into his stomach, but he quickly forced that feeling away. Steve would never stop looking for him—of that he was sure.

The man bent closer and, when Bucky thought he was in range, he spat up a mouthful of blood in a show of defiance. Unfortunately, he'd misjudged the distance and the blood spattered uselessly against the ground.

"Still fighting after all this," the man crooned, sounding almost proud.

Even though it was exactly what the man wanted, Bucky kicked out, but with the manacle around his ankle, his leg barely moved.

"Get some rest Sergeant," the man said, his fascinated gaze lingering over Bucky for a disconcerting amount of time before he straightened up and left the room.

* * *

Ten minutes before the scheduled drop time, Steve pulled the beat-up white van Pepper had managed to acquire into the first floor of the parking garage. The money was stacked in the back, but was covered by a thick pad of blankets so it couldn't be seen through the windows—the last thing Steve needed was to get pulled over on his way to the drop. As instructed, he cracked the back left window and left the key tucked in the driver's side visor.

Steve was on full alert as he walked away from the van, but he made his way unimpeded out of the garage and down the block. It was decently busy with joggers, families on their way home from extracurricular activities, and second-shift commuters, which provided cover and a variety of escape options. It also however made it difficult to tell who just wasn't paying attention from someone actively out to get him.

Instinctively, Steve knew this was their only plan, but that didn't make it any easier for him to leave all that cash, without trackers, in the van in a parking lot in a town he wasn't all that familiar with. His only comforts were two-fold: one, while it was a large sum of money, it was a small price to pay to get Tony and Bucky back. Like Rhodes, he wholeheartedly believed they could track the money. With new SHIELD and (unfortunately) Ross' resources, a sum of that size would be difficult, but not impossible to follow. Two, Clint and Natasha were the best at what they did, and would be tailing the van, hopefully back to its base. As much as he wanted to be the one in the car, he trusted the two of them without question to get the job done.

Besides, giving the New Order a working Iron Man suit had never been an option. Steve had known Tony well enough to know he wouldn't have wanted them to—he needed to have full trust in the people who had his tech, which was why Rhodes was the only one who wore an Iron Man derivative. That wasn't to say Tony had held back when updating the rest of the Avengers' uniforms, only that Steve recognized the brotherly bond between Tony and Rhodes, mostly because it was very similar to the one he shared with Bucky. While Steve was lucky enough to consider the rest of the Avengers as friends-almost-family, those relationships didn't even come close to the one he shared with Bucky, or, he suspected, Tony shared with Rhodes.

Which was definitely why Rhodes was acting so cold to him. Steve didn't blame Rhodes though, because he deserved most of the man's wrath. Throughout what the media had dubbed the 'Superhero Civil War', Steve had done what he thought was right, in hope of protecting the world against a greater threat. Still, he was truly sorry the situation had fallen out as it had. Despite all their differences, he'd never wanted to hurt Tony, and Steve hoped that one day he'd have the chance to make it up to his friend.

But they could cross that bridge later on, when Tony and Bucky were safe. Right now, he needed to focus on his part of the rescue, which appeared to have been completed.

"I left the van in the parking garage, left rear window cracked. No issues, and wasn't approached by anyone," he reported into the comms, once he'd stepped into the shadow of a large delivery van.

Maria, who was manning the temporary base a few miles away, came on the comms and told Steve to return to the rendezvous point. Much to his displeasure, Steve heard himself agreeing. The words tasted like vinegar as they left his mouth, which only confirmed his previous feelings that leaving wasn't the right play.

Still in the shadow of the van, Steve stepped toward the curb then bent down to fiddle with his shoelace. "I'm going to stay here," he announced. "The other team might need support."

"I can't authorize that," Maria responded. "You're far too recognizable."

"Honestly, I'm surprised you thought he'd leave," Natasha chimed in before Steve could speak up again.

Maria inhaled deeply, was quiet for a long few seconds, then instructed Steve to find a better disguise. He was under no circumstances to pursue the van, just to serve as backup until the van was out of sight.

Steve agreed then stood up and pulled a sharp left in a very crowded coffee shop, leaving a slipstream of unhappy commuters in his wake. Keeping his head low, he pushed his way through the room, shedding his jacket and dropping it on the floor.

There was a particularly vocal man standing in line, yelling at the baristas who were doing their best to keep up with the rush. He happened to have an expensive pair of sunglasses on his head; Steve wouldn't be able to use them for much longer but it was another article of clothing he could quickly shed. One intentional bump, a lift Natasha would have been proud of, and furious apology later, and the sunglasses were now in Steve's hand.

He fumbled his way to the employee's only entrance and out the back, where he swapped the delivery boy's cap, sitting in the front dash of his truck, for a ten dollar bill.

His new disguise acquired and any possible tail he had stuck in the store traffic, Steve headed back the way he came to keep an eye on the garage from a distance.

* * *

"I see movement," Clint said. "Male. Late twenties, early thirties. White. Hat and sunglasses. West side of the building. He's either forgotten where he parked or he's looking for a particular car."

"Green jacket, blue jeans?" Sam asked from a cafe down the street, where Clint could see he was browsing a trashy magazine while munching on a doughnut.

"That's the one."

Draped under a silver blanket so as to blend in with the side and top of the building, Clint peered down the scope and followed the potential New Order member's path. "Strike that. He found his car. 2000s red Camry across the aisle."

"Is it typical for the bad guys to be ten minutes late?" Sam queried as the Camry's owner swiped his credit card at the gate then pulled out of the garage.

"They're probably making sure we aren't staking out the building," Natasha replied. She was two streets away in the tail car, a nondescript Altima from the 90s, ready to leave when Clint gave the word.

"Which we are."

"But we're being very discreet about it. Less talking will help sell the bit though."

With that, the comms drifted into silence. Clint shifted positions then looked down the scope again, scanning both the streets around the garage and the different levels of the garage itself. "Second guy," he reported a few minutes later. "Late twenties, early thirties. Darker skinned, curly hair, also wandering around."

Sam just made a grunt of affirmation and flipped the page of his magazine.

"He's approaching the car… he's getting in the car. We're hot."

"Coming around," Natasha replied.

Clint quickly packed up his scope then threw it into a duffel bag with the silver blanket. In a crouch, he hustled away from the street-facing edge of the building to the alley-facing back, where he jumped off the side of the building in a slow, controlled fall, thanks to the harness he'd attached earlier.

Natasha's Altima pulled up just as he was detaching himself from the harness.

"Where are they going, Sam?" Clint asked as he threw his gear into the back and climbed into the passenger's seat in one easy motion.

"East on 49th."

Natasha barely waited for Clint to close the door before she stepped on the accelerator. "We're on it."

She tapped the brakes at the intersection with the main street, then turned right.

"He's four cars up, in the left lane," Sam said.

"I see him." Natasha carefully made her way through traffic to the far lane, where they would have the best vantage point of the van, but weren't close enough to be spotted.

"He's turning on Central and is now out of my view."

"You and Cap to the rendezvous point," Maria instructed. "Evac in ten."

"Copy that." They heard sounds of Sam consuming the last bit of his pastry before he pushed in his chair and began walking away.

Clint and Natasha followed the van west out of the city and onto the highway. Natasha concentrated on maintaining a decent distance, being careful to not draw any undue attention to herself, while Clint kept reporting the route and any changes into the comms. They had just passed the third mile marker when they heard a loud pop and their Altima jerked wildly to the right.

"What the hell was that?" Maria demanded.

Natasha didn't answer as she fought to keep the car in their lane. Clint knew any help he tried to offer would only make the situation worse, so he just braced himself against the door while Natasha struggled.

"Smoke," was all he said as he spied the black cloud billowing from the backside right tire. Natasha glanced up at the rearview mirror, swore loudly in Russian, then pulled the car over to the shoulder.

As soon as she'd stopped, Clint hopped out of the car and examined the wheel with the flashlight from his phone. He too swore when he discovered a very distinctive circular hole in the tread, just shy of the top of the tire. Feeling very exposed, he quickly made his way back to the car and pressed himself against the back of the seat.

"They shot out our tire," he announced.

The response was a litany of curses from all ends.

"Too long to change it," Natasha stated. _Especially if the sniper is still around._

"I'm on it," Steve said over the comms.

Clint and Natasha barely had a chance to exchange glances before a motorcycle came racing past them. It wasn't until the bike hit a street light that Clint recognized the jeans SHIELD had provided Steve for the drop, and the completely functional, totally not-fashionable sneakers resting against the pedals.

"We're going to have a long talk when you get back," was all Maria said before the motorcycle disappeared around the bend.

"He's gonna need backup," Natasha declared as she stepped out of the car, careful to line herself up between the driver's side windows, just in case the shooter was still around. After a blue Bug sped by, she planted herself in the right lane and held up her wallet and phone, such that the phone's light shone on a gold shield tucked into the crease of Natasha's wallet.

"Where did you get that?" Clint asked as he leaned his seat back fully, popped open the backseat driver's side door, then crawled out. He positioned himself in the same path as Natasha, so they'd have the slight cover from the car door jambs.

"Old assignment. Sitwell never asked for it back."

Two approaching cars switched lanes and accelerated around Natasha but the third, a green compact, came to a slow, uneasy stop.

Natasha hurried over to the driver's side door and pulled on the handle, which didn't budge. Undeterred, she smacked the badge against the driver's side window with her open palm and said, "FBI sir, I need to borrow your car."

"I need to get home to my kids," the man protested. Clint couldn't see the man's face in the wash of the headlights but he planted himself in front of the car, on the off-chance the man decided to take off. His skin crawled with the sensation of being in the wide open space and he hoped the man decided to surrender his car before Natasha had to resort to more drastic tactics.

Cars were piling up behind the compact now, laying on the horn while struggling to change lanes. One car even rolled down its window and shouted obscenities as it roared past.

"Nat," Clint warned, painfully aware of both the seconds that were ticking by and how exposed the two of them were.

Natasha was already in motion. She slammed her shield against the window with one hand while pulling a baton from her pocket with the other. "I will break this window," she threatened.

The man visibly gulped, then unlocked the door and stepped uncertainly out of the car.

"Thank you," Natasha chirped as she slipped into the driver's seat. She barely waited for Clint to climb in as well before she gunned the car and slipped back into traffic.

"We have a new set of wheels," Natasha informed Maria and Steve over the comms.

"You're five miles behind them," was Maria's only reply.

Natasha nodded and stepped harder on the gas.


	8. Chapter 8

**You didn't really think I was going to go a whole fic without whumping Steve a little, did you?**

* * *

Steve kept his distance behind the van, even as it went through several obvious anti-tailing maneuvers. It switched lanes rapidly, sped up then slowed down almost at random, and feigned exiting before quickly pulling back through the gore point. Then, the van abruptly stopped its maneuvers and remained in the middle lane, obeying the speed limit.

Steve originally believed this was a sign he'd avoided detection but, as the minutes drew on, he started to get a feeling that something wasn't right. He checked his mirrors a few times but didn't see anything unusual behind him.

After one such instance, as he had just looked back at the road ahead of him, the van abruptly swerved across three lanes, cutting off a grey sedan which laid heavily on its horn.

"I need to pull off," Steve announced as the uneasy feeling ratcheted up. He shifted into the right lane, having learned a long time ago to trust his instincts, especially out in the field.

"We got you Cap," Nat replied. "About a mile back."

Steve nodded then tapped the brakes slightly to slow the motorcycle for the sharply curving exit.

Suddenly, a car rammed him from behind. The bike surged forward and Steve fought to stay upright while it tilted toward the unforgiving asphalt. He'd almost succeeded too, steadying the bike just a bead off-center, when he was struck again.

This time, Steve couldn't counteract the blow and both bike and rider went down. The bike crashed to the ground on top of Steve's leg, tearing a cry from the soldier's lips, before it slid along the shoulder, tugging Steve along with it.

* * *

"What happened, Cap?" Clint demanded on the other end of the line but there was only harsh panting in response. "Steve!"

It took everything Natasha had to keep from pushing harder on the accelerator. If she sped up, it would be clear to the van that she was taking Steve's place. It pained her greatly, not being able to help her teammate, but she remained focused on the end goal of tracking the money and saving her other friends. Steve was still breathing heavily over the comms, which was more of a guarantee than what she knew about Stark or Barnes.

"I'm down," Steve finally panted, his voice thin and uneven, "and so is the bike."

"Just stay there," Maria ordered, "You're blown."

Steve didn't say anything but, if it was possible to _hear_ disappointment in his next breath, Natasha did.

"What happened?" Clint asked as traffic began slowing down.

Natasha slipped in the far lane where she strategically placed their vehicle so there was no one in front of them. This would give both her and Clint a brief window to check on Steve as they passed the site of Steve's accident.

Even though it was dark, the crash site was lit by the headlights of two cars that had pulled over, obviously in hopes of offering aid. Steve was crawling out from under the bike, that three people were straining to lift. Even from this distance, Natasha could tell the bike was beyond saving.

Steve was now sitting upright, still wearing his helmet, but had yet to actually get to his feet. Natasha could only hope he was doing that so as to not draw further attention to himself, in the wake of three new sets of eyes, and not because he was seriously injured.

"I got hit from behind," Steve stated as the three Good Samaritans let the bike crash back to the ground.

"Did you see who did it?"

"Not really. I think the car was lighter—no, really, I'm fine, thank you so much for stopping. I just need a minute."

Before Clint or Natasha could reply, Sam made his first entrance into the conversation, and told Steve to switch frequencies so they could determine the severity of his injuries.

"Don't lose them," Steve grunted before his comm went silent.

"One of these cars is theirs," Clint stated, somewhat unnecessarily.

Without another word, he and Natasha began calling out license plate numbers to Maria, who, they hoped, would have the techs start running them. They repeated the first few sets of numbers until they heard the distinctive static of another comm coming online.

"Focus on the lighter ones," Clint repeated to the newcomer before calling out the next plate.

This pattern continued for a few more miles while Natasha safely and subtly switched lanes, both to get eyes on new plates but to also keep the white van in sight. She was careful in her choices, not switching enough to be recognized, just enough to construed as someone who didn't like driving behind bad drivers.

"Do you have eyes on the van?" Maria asked a beat later.

"Just passed the Bradford exit. Three cars up."

"There's a tunnel ahead. We're going to lose overhead surveillance."

"Copy that," Natasha said before signaling and carefully switching into the left lane, leaving one grey sedan between her and the van.

Then, without warning, the van sped up and cut into the center lane. Natasha did her best to maintain visibility, but she was boxed in by tan Explorer in her right blind spot, a Dodge truck in front of it, and the grey sedan in front of her. There wasn't enough space for her to get through.

She slammed on her brakes and swerved behind the Explorer, just as they entered the tunnel. "Do you see it?"

"No," Clint snapped. He was practically pressing his nose against the windshield to get the best view of the next lane.

Natasha swore then stomped on the accelerator and shifted back to her old spot, before eking out another switch in front of the truck with barely two inches to spare. She floored it and rapidly weaved between lanes to get ahead. She knew she was standing out now, but it was their only choice, if they wanted to regain some control over the rapidly worsening situation.

"Do you have a visual on the van?" Maria demanded.

"No."

With their last hope dwindling, Natasha poured on the speed, bursting out of the tunnel and into the beam of an overhead light. Clint straightened up in his seat, his head whipping around, while Natasha continued to speed through traffic.

"Did it exit the tunnel?" he yelled into the comms.

"Not that we can see," Maria responded.

Natasha threw on her brakes and spun around, making a U-turn in the middle of the heavily-trafficked area to go back into the tunnel. "Did it turn around?" she snapped.

"No, it didn't exit the tunnel on either side. It just… disappeared," a new voice, apparently Maria's tech, said.

Natasha turned on her brights, much to the dismay of everyone in the tunnel, and scanned the left side of the tunnel while Clint searched the right.

"Do you see the van?" Maria demanded again.

Neither Natasha nor Clint responded, their eyes glued to their respective sides of the road. When they reached the beginning of the tunnel, with no sight of the van, Natasha cursed rather impressively in Russian then shook her head. "No, Hill. We lost it."

* * *

Twenty minutes and two scans of the area later, Clint and Natasha arrived back at the quinjet to find Steve sitting on a bench in front of a bank of monitors with his right leg stretched out in front of him. There was very little left of the right side of Steve's jeans, and his jacket and shirt, while in better condition, still revealed swaths of angry red skin in the tears. While the medical staff on the bottom right monitor looked on in horror, Steve slathered antiseptic on the side of his leg, haphazardly slapped on pads of gauze then secured it to his skin with a roll of plastic film.

Sam was nowhere in sight, but, judging by how quickly the door closed behind the new arrivals, he was piloting the quinjet back to the compound.

Steve looked up when Clint and Natasha walked in. "Anything?"

They shook their heads in tandem.

"We're sorry Cap," Clint said. As he walked by, he rested his hand on Steve's shoulder for a split second, but otherwise made no more motion to console the man, who was glaring holes into the floor.

"Tell me you have something," Natasha asked Maria, whose face was occupying a screen of her own, off to the left of the one showing the Compound med staff.

Maria ended the phone call she had been making then looked directly into the webcam. "No Skype calls, if that's what you're asking."

"It was. What about the van?"

"Still hasn't been spotted. They either looped all the camera feeds on their route or they abandoned it nearby."

"We drove all around the area. Didn't see it."

"So it's the former. We still have an APB out, on the off-chance it somehow slipped by us, but even if they haven't abandoned it yet, they probably will soon."

"Maybe we get lucky and they drive it straight to their base."

"How often does that happen?" Maria asked tiredly.

"Not. But there's a first time for everything. They have to make a mistake sometime, especially if taking Stark and Barnes wasn't their original plan. They haven't had time to plan for many contingencies."

Before Maria could respond, Clint walked up to the wall of monitors. "Play that footage again," he said, pointing to the upper left screen. It was replaying the nearby traffic camera footage of the exit to the tunnel, just after Natasha just pulled a U-turn to retrace their route.

A dark-haired tech, who was sitting next to Maria, looked up at the webcam, made a few mental adjustments, then tapped a few buttons on the keyboard. The footage jumped back two minutes and then began to play on fast-forward.

"There," Clint pointed at a large tan moving van which exited the tunnel a few cars before Natasha. "When does that van come in?"

The tech made a few circular motions on his touchpad, winding back the footage. "Half hour before the drop."

Clint looked over at Maria. "They pulled a _Fast and Furious_."

"APB out on that moving van," Maria ordered, spinning to spread her instructions across the array of techs sitting in the room with her. "I want the rest of you to split your time between it and the other van. Chances are they dumped the moving van as soon as they were out of the tunnel, but we need to track it all the same." She turned to Clint and dipped her head. It was as close as she got to a verbal acknowledgement of success.

"Any progress on the partial description Barnes gave?" Natasha asked.

"Wasn't much to go on, but it doesn't match the composite sketch for Grey. Maybe one of his SICs."

The quinjet was now in the air and, from the direction, Clint was positive they were headed back for Upstate New York.

"We'll be there in twenty," Steve answered Clint's unasked question. He must have heard a portion of this conversation before since the only part he looked remotely interested in was Clint's discovery about the moving van.

Clint heard a ripping sound and looked back to see Steve tear the plastic wrap with his teeth, push the loose end down then lower his leg to the ground with only a slight hitch in his breathing.

"We need to refuel, suit up, then get back in the air," Steve continued. "I want us as close to the coordinates or their potential base as possible. Whichever comes first."

"Yes, sir," the techs said and, onscreen, a redheaded agent strode off to prepare the landing dock.

Steve then looked over at Natasha and Clint. The air was silent with concern, worry, and even fear, but they didn't fill the air with platitudes; they had all seen far too much to be certain of today's outcome.

"Are you okay?" Natasha asked.

"Always am," Steve replied, one corner of his mouth lifting in a self-deprecating smile. Then, after a beat, he added, "I'm gonna go check on Sam. You guys should get some rest while you can."

"Only if you do too."

"No promises," was all Steve said before he limped toward the cockpit.

"You don't have _anything_ else?" Natasha asked Maria, who had yet to end the call.

"We're running the composite sketch through the DMV for matches, but also through all the feeds we can access for a potential location. No matches on that either."

"And the origin of the original Skype calls?"

"The team has it narrowed down to the upper East Coast. Nothing more specific."

Natasha nodded but her eyes were burning with rage. Very few people had outsmarted Natasha Romanoff and lived to tell the tale, almost no one since Clint had known her. Clint would be lying as well if he said he wasn't looking forward to getting a few minutes with the people who had abducted and beaten his friends.

With nothing else to do in the interim, he laid down on the bench and closed his eyes, knowing that this was the last bit of rest he was going to get for a while.

* * *

Tony had a tenuous grip on consciousness at best. He had been floating in and out for a while now, awake enough to feel the burning pain in his side and the other various injuries he'd accrued, but unable to answer Barnes. Unfortunately, the lethargy also meant he was unable to fight whoever was pulling him from the chair.

And so he was hauled forcibly down the hallway. He tried to remember the route they had taken so he could eventually get back to Barnes, but his world kept sliding out of focus.

When he came to again, he was lying on something hard and cool. It took a monumental effort but, after a few false starts, he managed to slide his eyelids up a fraction.

He was lying on the floor of a garage of sorts, not back in the room with Barnes. A red truck was parked on the far side of the room and two men were hauling duffel bags out of the covered bed.

It didn't take much for Tony to realize what was in the bags. Rhodey must have talked the New Order out of the suit, which was the only reason he was still alive, and traded their lives for cash instead—well, at least _his_ life, considering Barnes wasn't beside him... Unless it was a double-cross and they were still going to kill him—God, he hoped Rhodey hadn't paid them all upfront.

Tony's prolonged exposure with the ground was slowly drawing his body back into consciousness, bringing with it a world of agony. His side had gotten worse and was now a sharp stabbing pain with every inhale instead of a dull burn. Fortunately, the men on the other side of the room didn't seem to be paying him any attention, which meant he had an opportunity, if he could summon enough strength to get up.

Before he made any move though, he scanned the area around him. He was lying beside at a worktable which was next to a floor-to-ceiling cabinet of what he presumed to be tools. Anything he could find would be a useless weapon at this distance but the men had to come back to this side of the garage eventually.

Tony took one more look at the men then began to slowly slide across the floor toward the worktable. Sweat dripped in his eyes and his vision blurred out more often than not but he managed to get to the rolling chair undetected.

The next part was going to be significantly more difficult. He squinted at the labelled drawers and was able to see a white tag for 'screwdrivers' about three drawers up—too far for him to reach from the ground. He was going to have to lean on the chair, pop that sucker open and get out a tool without the men seeing. The drawer was metal, probably ungreased, but it was his best option, given the unremarkable and weaponless items below it.

Tony very slowly leveraged himself up the chair until he was leaning his elbows on the seat. He'd just begun to reach for the drawer when something _finally_ happened in his favor.

In his current position, he was just high enough to see an array of tools spread out over the desk, screwdrivers among them. Tony grabbed the two longest ones that were in reach then quickly lowered himself back to the ground. He barely made it two scoots away from the table before he decided to stop pushing his luck.

He allowed his eyes to slip closed as he tightened his grip on the screwdrivers, which he hid along the underside of his forearms. The cool metal slid against his wrists, comforting him with its weight.

He waited while the men continued to work on the other side of the room, fighting off his body's pleas for sleep so it could begin to heal. He distracted his mind from both the pain and exhaustion with song lyrics, mental challenges, and reciting his doctoral thesis, until he heard steps approaching.

When he could see their shoes between the crack in his eyelids, Tony pounced.

* * *

Bucky lay as still as possible, trying to ignore the jolts of pain that pulsed through his hand, his thigh, and pretty much his entire torso. He couldn't react to them at all, couldn't shift positions or change his breathing, not if he wanted his current plan to work.

His end goal, obviously, was to get out of the room. To do that, he had to get a guard _in_ the room to free him from the chair. They hadn't responded to his shouts and pleas earlier but, now that Tony was gone—hopefully being returned to the Avengers—there was only one option Bucky could think of: he had to make it look like he was at risk of dying from his injuries. If the Hydra offshoot wanted him alive, someone would have to come in and check on him, which would give Bucky an opportunity to attack.

It was one of his weaker plans, but was the best he could do in his current situation. His inability to free himself from the chair eliminated a majority of his more successful options—all the rest ended with his body in worse condition than it already was. Though he would probably survive one of those ideas, he couldn't take the chance, not with his version of the serum already working in overdrive to repair his injuries from the last day.

So, without any other options, Bucky focused on taking short, imperceptible breaths that didn't move his rib cage, and slowing down his heart rate, without actually losing consciousness. Despite his best efforts, he occasionally found himself drifting, which was why he wasn't sure how much time had passed before he heard footsteps in the hallway... footsteps that stopped in front of his door.

Bucky tensed as the door creaked open and two people entered.

"Free him."

Bucky did a silent double-take as he recognized the voice. But Tony was gone, so it was a trick, or he'd somehow been drugged. Either way, he couldn't give away his position by reacting. It was what they expected him to do.

"I can't," a second voice said. "I don't have the key."

"Who does?"

If it was a hallucination, it was a damn good one. That sounded almost perfectly like Stark. But Stark wouldn't come back for him, not after what he did to Howard and Maria. There was a difference between sharing the load so they could both walk out, and someone being out and coming back. He didn't hold it against Stark, not in the slightest.

"Karl, down the hall."

"Poke your head out…" a quick inhale "...out the door. Get him in here."

Then Bucky heard the sound of a slide being ratcheted. The first attempt was halting, like the holder didn't have a good grip, but the second one successfully chambered the bullet. That wasn't ideal, but the presence of a loaded gun in the room hadn't stopped him before.

The door opened a crack and the second voice called, "Karl, I need your help a minute."

"Really, Randy?"

"Just get in here!" the second voice, Randy, snapped. Bucky heard a swishing sound then Randy stepped backward.

A third set of heavy footsteps stopped in the doorway. "What, Randy?" a low voice demanded. It was followed a split second later by a, "Shit, Randy."

Karl took a few steps forward then froze. His gait was different than it had been in the hallway, almost forced, which meant whoever was holding the gun must have trained it on Karl… which meant he'd be a friendly… which meant Bucky might not be hallucinating Stark's presence after all.

After brief consideration, he deemed cracking open his eyes an acceptable risk and found Stark leaning against the wall next to the door. The inventor's left hand was plastered to his right side, but his right hand was training a gun on the portly Karl, who was glaring at Randy, who was standing just off to Bucky's left.

"Scream and I shoot," Stark stated.

"He already killed Sean," Randy said to Karl, eyes wide.

Karl nodded once then stepped further into the room.

"Close the door."

Karl did so.

"Free him," Stark slurred, gesturing to Bucky while shifting his shoulders slightly higher up the wall.

The ruse of deception gone, Bucky opened his eyes all the way and jerked against his shackles. He didn't get any farther than before, but Randy jolted backward, visibly uneasy.

Karl's gaze snapped between Tony and Barnes before reaching into his vest and pulling out a ring of keys. He took a step toward Barnes, then flung the key ring back toward Stark, who ducked out of the way with difficulty. The distraction had served its purpose though. In the brief second Stark had looked away briefly, Karl lunged.

"Stark!" Bucky shouted. He threw his body backwards, managing to slide the chair into Randy's legs. As the guard crashed to the ground, Bucky caught a glimpse of metal on Randy's belt—a gun—and tried to grab it, but it was too far out of reach. He kicked out again, this time with a little height, and managed to lift the chair just high enough so its back pinned Randy to the ground.

He heard a gunshot and flinched, waiting for the burn of pain, but none came. Barnes looked up to see Karl stumbling backward, clutching at the new hole in his chest.

Barnes felt Randy shift underneath him and slammed the chair into him again. This time, Randy slackened against the ground.

Then a ring of keys slid to stop by his hands. Bucky tried to reach out to grab them but they were too far away. He threw his chair forward at the same time Tony crashed to his knees in front of Bucky. He held out the gun and Bucky grabbed it while Tony began to fumble with the key and the cuffs.

In that instant though, as they handed off the gun, Bucky had felt the warmth of Tony's hand, which was something he'd never felt in a hallucination.

 _He'd come back._

 _He didn't deserve this._

 _He was an idiot._

 _He was_ saved _._

When his right hand was free, Bucky handed the gun back to Tony and quickly freed the rest of his limbs.

"Someone definitely heard that," the former Soldier grunted as he pulled himself and Tony to their feet. "We gotta get out of here."

The second they were upright, Tony jerked out of Bucky's grip, tilting dangerously to the right before managing to regain his balance. "To the lab," he mumbled, hand pressing tighter to his side.

"No, out!" Bucky bent down and secured Randy's gun and key card. The world swayed as his head dropped below his knees but he swallowed hard and centered himself on Randy's bloody face.

"Won't make it out in one shot," Tony was saying. "Barely made it back."

Bucky straightened up and stumbled over to the door. He pressed his ear against the metal but thankfully heard no footsteps.

As if answering his unasked question, Tony responded, "Cameras are… onaloop."

Which bought them a significant amount of time.

Bucky nodded, which he hoped Tony interpreted as whatever passed for 'thank you for coming back for me' these days, then cracked open the door.

"Can you walk?"

Tony nodded, then proved his point by taking a large step forward. His knees immediately buckled and he scrabbled at the wall to stay upright.

Bucky crossed the distance between them in two large steps. Ignoring the white-hot pain in his leg, he crouched slightly and slid Tony's left arm over his shoulder. It was a testament to how badly Tony must have been hurt that he didn't try to pull away.

"Stay tight to me, don't get in the way of the gun," Bucky ordered as he shifted his hold on Tony. Then he tapped his right hand under Tony's, bringing the gun up and level.

"Got it," Tony rasped and, this time, the gun stayed parallel to the floor.

Thus, clinging to each other, Tony and Bucky stepped out of the room and into the clutches of Hydra.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks for the kind comments! I promise to respond to them all in turn, but I figured you'd prefer another chapter first. :)**

 **Quick note: Tony's sections are supposed to be slightly disjointed, to reflect his current mental and physical condition. It's not just bad editing. Mellia Bee and merryrf are amazing at their jobs!**

* * *

Steve sat on the vanity of his en-suite bathroom at the Compound surrounded by pieces of his uniform he hadn't been able to put on yet. After speaking with Ross, who hadn't been thrilled to hear they'd lost fifty million dollars _and_ hadn't heard back from the New Order, Steve had returned to his room to retrieve his uniform and, thankfully, a small jar of super-strong topical pain reliever Tony and Bruce had cooked up. There wasn't much left in the jar, meaning any benefit would be temporary at best, but it left him in a better situation than he had been. After globbing it on his right shoulder, the ache had subsided to a manageable level, allowing him to swap what remained of his T-shirt and leather jacket for his undershirt and suit top.

His right leg however was far too puffy with the plastic wrap and bandages to fit inside his pant leg. He'd managed to pull away the plastic and cut off what remained of his jeans, but even after turning the shower on full-stream, he wasn't having any luck separating the thick pads of gauze from his skin without reopening the newly-formed scabs. In hindsight, his impulsive first-aid hadn't been his best idea, but it'd saved him a trip to the local doctors, and allowed him to return to the Compound, in case a new development occurred.

Steve straightened up as he heard the door to the bathroom slide open, but relaxed the second he recognized the very distinctive footsteps.

"If you're here to talk me out of going, you can save your breath," he said before returning to gently separating the bloodied gauze from his leg.

"I don't think I really stand a chance at stopping you," Sam countered as he came to a stop between Steve and the shower and placed a first-aid kit on the counter next to Steve's ankle. "I'm just here to help."

"How's Ross?"

"About to lose his mind." Sam grinned evilly. "Which wouldn't be the worst thing." Then he leaned down and began to examine the outer side of Steve's leg. "How is it?"

"Not that bad."

"Tell that to my face."

"Not that bad," Steve repeated, staring Sam straight in the eye.

Sam shrugged then shifted so he could examine the patch of skin Steve had managed to free before he'd thought of loosening the scabs with steam. It was angry red, inflamed and flecked with what Steve suspected was loose gravel, though he hadn't had a chance to confirm. He knew the damage continued down his leg under the gauze, and spread to his torso as well. Thankfully, his upper body had been better protected by both a borrowed jacket and T-shirt, it was more bruised and battered than bleeding. It was all superficial though, which rendered any real medical care useless. The serum would even push out the asphalt if he'd give it the chance.

Sam's gaze flicked back up to meet Steve's. "Scale of one to ten."

"Three. It's all superficial."

"Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt like the dickens." Sam flipped open the first-aid kit and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "So what's our play?"

"I can't get the pants of the suit on as is," Steve admitted. "So pull off enough to make that happen, then rewrap what's left."

Sam nodded but moved to Steve's shoe instead of starting in on the gauze. "What about your ankle?"

"What about it?"

"Heard it got trapped under the bike."

"It's fine, Sam," Steve said, trying but not succeeding to keep the frustration out of his tone.

The pararescue let out a long-suffering sigh. "Then it won't hurt if I take a look at it."

"Knock yourself out." Truth was, Steve's ankle was on fire, sending splitting pains up his leg with every step. It was at most uncomfortable, and definitely not bad enough to keep him grounded.

Sam carefully slid off Steve's sneaker then began to examine the his ankle. Steve tried to not pay attention to what Sam was doing, lest something on his face give away how painful it was, but Sam just very gently palpated his ankle bone before moving on to the surrounding ligaments and tendons.

Steve knew the ligaments test was coming so he pointedly focused on separating a new patch of gauze. After several long minutes, though, all Sam had done was gently prod the area around his ankle bone. Curious, Steve looked up to find it had swollen to the size of a golf ball.

Sam looked up a brief second later and, realizing Steve was watching him, said, "It might be broken," before explaining why he thought that was the case. "I really think you need an X-ray."

"It's not broken."

"Steve—"

"What's the X-ray going to tell me what?" Steve snapped, the words surging out of his mouth before he could stop them. "It doesn't matter if it's broken or not. I need to go out there, Sam. And if you're not here to help, I need you to go too."

Regret immediately washed over him and he winced apologetically. Sam had done nothing to deserve that outburst, which was only reinforced by the fact Sam didn't pack up his stuff and leave. "I'm sorry," Steve said quickly. "That was uncalled for."

Sam just shook his head slowly. "You can make it up to me when they're back." Then, he lowered his hands so one was resting on each side of Steve's ankle. "I'm going to have to test your ligaments," he announced. "I promise I'll be careful."

Steve had never had a reason to doubt otherwise. He returned to the loosening the gauze while Sam very slowly and very gently moved his ankle left, right, up and down.

"Lateral ligaments seem a little loose but otherwise not too bad." Sam released Steve's ankle then waited for him to look up before asking, "How bad does it really hurt, Steve?"

"Three if I'm just sitting here."

"And weight-bearing?"

"Six," Steve unhappily admitted.

"Wonderful." Sam looked at Steve's ankle again, his expression marred with a deep scowl.

"Can't we just wrap it to keep it from swelling? My boot goes up past it, should keep it stable."

"That's like sticking a band-aid on a crack in the Hoover Dam," Sam retorted, but after a moment, he pulled rolls of pre-wrap and athletic tape from the kit. He carefully separated the gauze from the lower part of Steve's leg and treated the road rash before starting the pre-wrap layer.

"How's that feel?" he asked when he had finished double taping Steve's ankle.

"Better," Steve said truthfully, after moving it around and feeling very little extraneous pain. "Thanks."

"You're welcome. Just promise me you'll get it looked at once they're home."

Steve nodded, which merited a weak smile from Sam.

"Good. Now, anything else I need to know about?"

Steve's shoulder flared in response to the question, but he didn't say a word. It definitely wasn't broken so there wasn't anything Sam could do about it, other than rub on some more topical cream. Besides, other than that brief flare, the painkillers in the cream were already doing wonders for keeping his shoulder mobile and pain-free.

"Nope," Steve chirped as he returned to leveraging the gauze away from his leg.

If he'd looked up, he'd have seen Sam staring at him for a long moment, obviously warring with a decision. In the end, he chose not to say anything, and just returned to bandaging Steve's leg.

* * *

Tony and Barnes moved down the hallway awkwardly. Intertwined as they were, any shift in balance from either of them sent them both careening toward a wall. Their pace was barely faster than a hobble, but they'd made it all the way down the corridor without running into any more guards. Apparently their old room had some sort of soundproofing as no one came running.

At the upcoming crossroads, Tony leaned heavily to the right. "'h's way," he mumbled, gesturing with the elbow of the hand that was holding the gun.

Barnes adjusted his course but stumbled as they took the turn, sending both of them hurtling toward the wall before he managed to right them. It was then that Tony saw the pale coloring of Barnes' face beneath the bruises; apparently the former Soldier was hurt far worse than he'd been letting on. Tony didn't comment though, not because he didn't care, but because they just didn't have the resources to deal with it in their current predicament.

Then Barnes froze. The next thing Tony knew, his back had connected with the concrete wall hard enough for him to see stars. When the light show had subsided, Barnes was standing with his back to Tony, the gun Tony had once carried in his blood-slicked hand.

"'sgoin' on?" Tony slurred.

"Two guards, eleven o'clock," Barnes whispered. Part of Tony wanted to argue that he was more than capable of firing the gun himself, but a split second later, he bit down the protest. He was in the presence of Hydra's deadliest weapon; it just made sense for him to do a majority of the weapons handling. Besides, it took almost all Tony's concentration to lift his shoulder to the ear closest to the gun before Barnes fired twice, so maybe he shouldn't be in charge of the firearm after all.

Two bodies, who had presumably just turned the corner, thudded to the ground, then the gun was pressed back into Tony's hand as he was lifted away from the wall.

"Be on the lookout now," Barnes instructed. "They definitely heard that." He grunted then picked up the pace, moving them down the hallway almost without Tony's help.

Thankfully, they reached the lab before running into another guard. Once they were inside, Barnes deposited Tony on the ground next to the suit then immediately locked and barricaded the door.

It took a moment for Tony's head to stop spinning but, when it did, he lurched into motion. The entire suit was down but, if he could power the hidden, individual reactors in the pieces of the suit, he could hopefully make defensive weapons from its parts.

It was just harder than it would have been a couple of hours ago, though. His vision was sliding in and out of focus, the pain in his side had ramped up to the point where it sent new jolts through his system with every breath, and pretty much everything else was taking this opportunity to announce how injured it was. But Tony pushed through all of that with the little bit of comprehension he had left.

Freeing Barnes from the cuff was the most important priority, but the individual parts of his suit needed a charge first. As soon as he set those up, he'd be free to—

"I need to go."

Tony's gaze snapped up from the pieces of his suit to find Barnes finishing duct taping his metal arm to his torso. "What?"

"Medical supplies," Barnes replied as he tore the duct tape with his teeth and pushed the loose end down. He pushed himself off of a stool, his flesh hand tightly gripping the table and leaving a bloody smear on the metal surface. "If this is the lab, medbay is just 'round the corner." He inhaled sharply then held the gun out, grip first, to Tony. The inventor took it, cocked it, then trained it on the door.

"If I'm not back in ten," Barnes continued, "don't wait for me."

Tony opened his mouth to protest but Barnes cut him off with a sharp shake of his head. The remaining color drained out of Barnes' face and he swallowed hard before he ground out, "Don't. Wait."

This time, Tony could only nod.

* * *

Not long after his conversation with Sam, Steve walked out of the locker room in full Captain America garb. He'd smeared the remainder of the souped-up painkilling cream around the edges of his road rash, which, combined with the support from the reinforcements in his suit, meant he could walk almost without a limp. Sam had hung back to change into his own uniform, but would be meeting him on the quinjet in three.

They'd just gotten a call from Maria that the APB on the white van had come back with a positive match. A small ATM camera had caught the New Order member, wearing a ball cap and glasses, abandoning the van in an alleyway and swapping it for a red truck. Because of the angle of the camera, they hadn't been able to get a full plate, but it was enough to narrow down possibilities. The truck had headed west and had been caught on a slew of cameras; apparently the goons figured their switch in the tunnel was enough deception for one day, and either weren't caring about being detected now or just thought they were in the clear. Though the cameras didn't reveal an exact location for the truck yet, the plan was to launch the quinjet so it would already be in the air and headed toward the west side of the state when they did.

Unfortunately, not everyone could go on that mission. On the off-chance Steve had been hit by accident and the New Order hadn't realized they had been tailed, someone had to bring the other 50 million to the trade. Almost everyone at the Compound was certain that trade was never going to happen, but it was their job to prepare for those eventualities.

Maria ended up electing Vision to stay behind, after Rhodey had flatly refused. The android had been less than thrilled, along with some of the other Avengers who wanted him to be a part of the raid team, but Maria had held firm. They needed someone who could defend themselves, but more importantly, defend Tony and Bucky from any potential distance. Vision would have the element of surprise if he assumed human form and would be best equipped to ensure Bucky and Tony's return. He would, however, be accompanied by a high-ranking SHIELD agent, to keep Vision from translating phrases too literally, if negotiations were required.

Steve had been so busy putting one foot in front of the other than he'd missed someone else entering the hallway behind him. It was only when that someone cleared their throat rather loudly that Steve whirled around and simultaneously activated the pointed grey shield on his wrist.

He retracted the shield and stood at ease when he recognized the red, white and blue Iron Patriot armor a few feet away. Then, he saw the shield— _his_ circular, vibranium shield—in Rhodes' hands. It had been newly repainted, all signs of the fight in Siberia gone from its iconic exterior.

"Tony would wanted you to have this back," Iron Patriot's mechanical voice said as the suit held the shield out to Steve.

Steve took it and reverently ran his hand along the edge. He then slid it on his arm and was immediately comforted by its weight and size, in a way T'Challa's forearm shields, no matter how well intended, could never compete with.

After a second, he looked up at Rhodes and nodded his thanks. "Let's go get our friends back."

* * *

The second Barnes was gone, Tony put the gun on the floor, barrel still pointed at the door, and returned to his suit. He was well aware of every tick of the old-fashioned clock—every tick that let him know he was injured and alone in a Hydra base, and that the amount of time he had left before he was discovered was diminishing. And yet, despite that pressure, he managed to connect enough of the gauntlet to have a weapon that glowed the faintest blue. It wouldn't be strong—it might not even knock someone out—but Tony would accept whatever protection it could provide. Just as he turned to work on the other gauntlet, he heard a crash against the door.

He scrambled for the gun and trained it at the source of the noise, when he saw Barnes in the inlaid glass. In case Barnes wasn't alone, Tony held the gun steady, but Barnes shouldered his way in accompanied and then bolted the door behind him. Somewhere along the way he'd picked up two bulletproof vests and was wearing them one on top of the other, both over his taped-down arm.

Barnes dropped bonelessly to the ground then began digging through the backpack that had been slung over his flesh shoulder. He pulled out a red syringe, which he uncapped with his teeth before burying it in his left thigh. Almost immediately, the harsh set to his flesh shoulder slackened and he took a full, unimpeded breath.

"What're those?" Tony couldn't help but ask.

"Cocktail of stims and painkillers," Bucky explained as he injected himself with another.

He looked at the last syringe for a minute then held it out to Tony. "You want it?"

Swallowing hard, Tony shook his head. Barnes shrugged then emptied the syringe into his thigh.

"Shouldn't that, like, stop your heart?"

"Probably not."

In the heat of the moment, Tony couldn't tell if Barnes was being glib.

When he refocused on the situation in front of him, he saw Barnes holding out a clear syringe.

"What's that?"

"Just a painkiller."

Tony wanted to refuse more than anything, but his vision was blurring and he could hardly focus on the pieces of his suit in front of him. As much as he hated the idea of something stealing his focus, he hated the idea of Barnes bodily hauling him around the compound even more.

"Okay." He accepted the thin syringe then pulled off the cap with a badly-shaking hand. He hardly hesitated a second before driving the needle into his thigh.

Almost instantly, the agony in his side began to taper off.

He looked up, to find Barnes tearing open the rip in his combat pants with the help of a pair of medical scissors. The soldier swiped at the bleeding bullet hole with a pad of gauze then pulled a medical stapler from the bag. Understanding what was coming, Tony focused on disconnecting the left gauntlet from the rest of the suit. Despite his efforts, his stomach lurched and he almost sprayed the pieces of his suit with bile, as the stapler emptied once, twice, three times, with Barnes making little more sound than a stifled gasp.

Tony focused intently on the rushing in his ears to both block out the noise from the other side of the room and steady his queasy stomach, while he continued to rewire his second gauntlet. He had just succeeded in powering it up when he realized the stapling sound had stopped.

He turned to face Barnes who asked, "so can you remove it?"

Obviously _it_ was the band on his arm. Tony slid over to where Barnes was sitting, dragging the toolbox behind him. As he did so, Barnes leaned forward and slid the unbuckled vests over his head, which would allow Tony better access to his immobile arm.

"It needs a key," Tony stated after examining the band from all sides.

"Can you pick it?"

"Not that kind of lock." It looked like it required a badge or a similar RFID signal, which was an indirect gift, since they didn't need to hunt down a specific fingerprint or a physical key.

Tony was quiet for a moment as looked over at the pieces of his suit. His concentration had improved with the painkillers, the ache from his side no longer clouding his head and dulling his thoughts. After a beat, an idea began to form, and he explained it to Barnes.

"How long?"

"Longer if you keep asking questions."

Barnes nodded then reached out and snagged the gun, which he rested on his quad, barrel pointed at the door. "I'll guard the door."

* * *

"Got it!" Natasha shouted as she spun away from the screen inlaid in the side of the quinjet. "FRIDAY, make a course correction."

"Yes, Agent." A moment later, the quinjet banked to the left, sharply enough that Natasha had to grab at the console to stay in her seat.

She recovered quickly and pointed to the large red circle on screen, centered about fifty miles west of Ely, while Steve and Clint gathered behind her. "We traced the source of the Skype call down to this area."

"That's too much ground to cover," Steve objected, obviously having seen the ten-mile mile diameter in the overlay.

"But we were able to narrow it down some more," Natasha continued, after shooting Steve a scathing look for interrupting her. "The band on his arm wasn't just whipped up on the spot. It needed sizing and testing. I only know one group who had those opportunities."

"Hydra."

Natasha didn't have to look back to know the vein in Steve's forehead would be throbbing prominently, or that his jaw would be clenched tightly enough to crack teeth. She was similarly displeased with the conclusion, but was channeling her efforts into taking the base down for good. "That's what we thought too," she continued, in a surprisingly level tone. "So we cross-referenced the signal with all the whispers New STRIKE is running down and got this."

The circle shrunk to a small section of grassland and, when Natasha zoomed again, one small greyish building stood out from the green.

"ETA?" Steve asked.

"Fifteen minutes."

"Make it ten."

* * *

Sure enough, with pieces from the suit and a voltage meter on the workbench, Tony managed to trick the electronic lock into opening.

The second the band fell away, Barnes swung his metal arm out, which snapped the duct tape holding it in place. He then rotated his shoulder in a vertical wide circle and grinned. "Let's get out of here."

"What's the time frame on the stims?" Tony asked as he carefully slid on the bulletproof vest Barnes held out to him. It couldn't be long, since Barnes had to have some sort of serum running through his veins.

"Thirty minutes at most. So let's move."

Now wearing his own vest properly, Barnes peered through the glass in the door then cracked it open and slid through. After a minute, his metal hand slipped back in and he motioned for Tony to follow. The inventor grabbed his modified gauntlets from the ground, pulling the makeshift power cables from the wall, and slid them onto his hands. He too stepped into the hallway, then held up his left gauntlet, palm out, fingers splayed wide.

"Left, right?" Bucky asked.

For some reason that was funny. Tony barely held back a chuckle, knowing it would give away their location. With effort, he bit down on the unwanted laughter and managed to reply, "Left."

Barnes looked back at Tony then grabbed Tony's right hand and looped a finger of his gauntlet through the belt loop of his pants. "Stay with me, Stark, we're almost out of here." He then lurched forward and it took all of Tony's concentration to keep up, since Barnes was moving like he hadn't been injured at all.

Damn him.

Barnes was firing his gun rapidly, taking out any New Order member who was intent on keeping them from escaping. Occasionally, he shoved Tony against the wall then bent down to exchange his spent weapons with those from the bodies of his victims. Tony, when his concentration was clear, took out a few people with repulsor blasts.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded overhead, the sharp shrilling driving knives into Tony's brain. But he kept going. One foot in front of the other.

They hit the garage, which was when Barnes yanked himself free of Tony's gauntlet and threw himself in the other direction. Off-balance, Tony stumbled forward, barely managing to catch himself on the same work table he'd stolen a screwdriver from earlier. He looked over to see Barnes was fighting three men in hand-to-hand on the other side of the room. He had the upper hand, now that his arm was back online, but he was lacking his usual ruthless efficiency, and it took longer than Tony would have liked for the men to be either unconscious or dead—Tony didn't particularly care which at this point.

With that threat eliminated, Tony dropped into the rolling chair and looked at the swirling control panel in front of him, trying to figure out how they were going to raise the garage door. Then a cold, icy, and definitely not human grip—Barnes—was grabbing his arm and they were racing forward, toward a small door set into the side of the building.

Then, a few things happened in quick succession. The door flew open when they were still a few feet away; Barnes jolted to a stop and raised his gun, finger poised on the trigger; and Tony heard a sound he was intimately familiar with.

Clumsily, he reached forward and smacked Barnes' gun to the side.

"What the hell Stark!?" Barnes shouted as he tried to right the gun.

"It's Rhodes," Tony slurred. He was barely holding onto consciousness now, his grip on the back of Barnes' shirt the only thing keeping him semi-upright.

Sure enough, two sets of red, white and blue stepped into the room.

"Hi Platypus," was all Tony managed before his eyes rolled back into his head and he passed out.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you thought!**


	10. Chapter 10

Steve was on the move the second Tony started to sway but Rhodes was faster. The Iron Patriot suit was inside the compound and catching Tony just as his knees began to buckle.

"He's still breathing," Rhodes announced. He shifted his hold so Tony lay across both of his arms, with his head resting against Rhodes' shoulder, then straightened up.

"Get him to a hospital," Bucky said as he turned slightly back into the garage.

This new angle allowed Steve to see the dark bruises along Bucky's side and shoulder, that disappeared behind the bulletproof vest. The colors were far more grotesque than they'd been on the video call earlier, which hinted at more serious damage below. That, combined with his newly bleeding hand and the bloodsoaked rag tied around Bucky's leg, left little question in Steve's mind that his friend needed to be in the hospital just as badly as Tony.

"Not just him," Steve began but Bucky cut him off with a shake of his head.

"We're not done here."

" _Yes_ , we are." Steve insisted at the same time Rhodey said, "Three heavily-armed men inbound."

"There's a whole team of SHIELD's best on the way," Steve continued, fighting the urge to just haul his friend out of there. "Let's get you out of here and let them do their jobs."

"Gotta sweep for other victims first."

"The team is good, Buck. I've seen them in action. They'll take care of it."

"It won't be enough."

"Sixty seconds," Rhodes interrupted.

"Buck, we have to—"

"I'm staying," Bucky stated flatly. "With or without you."

Rhodes turned to face Steve while carefully adjusting his hold on Tony. "What's your play, Steve?" the Colonel asked.

Unless Rhodes was going to help him forcibly remove Bucky from the scene, Steve didn't really have a choice. He cursed under his breath then hefted his shield higher on his arm. "Take Tony," he told Rhodes. "We got this."

Rhodes stared at them for another second then nodded. "Be careful," was all he said before he braced Tony's head against his shoulder and took off.

The second Rhodes was out of the garage, Bucky headed for the door to the compound. Steve took off after him, gritting his teeth as the quick motion aggravated his ankle. "Buck, wait," he hissed.

Without warning, Bucky whirled around to face Steve, who was forced to step to the right to keep from slamming into his friend. His ankle protested vehemently and it was only through sheer will that Steve managed to keep his leg from buckling. He was on alert, in case Bucky had noted a new threat, but then he saw Bucky's cool and calculating gaze and knew that had been a test.

"You're hurt," his friend stated.

"I'm fine. But you're not." Now that they were standing so close, Steve could see Bucky's wider than normal pupils, despite the light streaming in from the outside door. "Did they drug you?"

"No."

Steve blinked. "I don—"

"I did," Bucky interrupted. "To get us out." Then, he motioned to Steve's right leg. "What happened?"

"Crashed my bike."

Bucky stared at Steve for a few seconds before he nodded. Then, his expression darkened and he pressed himself against the wall beside the doorway.

"I assume you have a plan, other than running in guns blazing?" Steve asked as he assumed the spot next to his friend.

"Sweep for innocents. Then burn it the ground."

Despite the gravity of the situation, a small smile tugged at the corner of Steve's lips. "Okay then. On your lead."

Bucky raised his metal hand, all the while training the gun at the door with his right. He held up three metal fingers, put down his ring finger, than his middle one and, on the last cue, he and Steve burst through the door and back into the compound.

* * *

Iron Patriot's HUD was a wash of alarms from the scans FRIDAY was taking of Tony. His temperature was far too high, his respiration uneven, and his blood pressure dangerously low. To make matters worse, Rhodey could see Tony's blood dripping down the side of the armor.

As soon as they'd left the base, FRIDAY had sent an alert to Pepper, informing her that Tony was alive but needed surgery. She texted back not long after saying that Mount Sinai surgical staff was on stand-by. FRIDAY had made the necessary changes to his flight path before Rhodey was done reading the message.

The respiration alarm flashed more insistently so Rhodey tucked Tony's head tighter into the protection of the suit and poured on the speed.

When they landed on the roof of Mt. Sinai, a group of doctors and nurses were already standing by. Rhodey had barely laid Tony down on the gurney before they were pushing him out of the way. As much as Rhodey wanted to fight back, he didn't, knowing he would only be hindering these men and women from doing their jobs.

They were asking Rhodey questions that unfortunately he didn't know how to answer; Barnes probably would have, but he was otherwise occupied. Rhodey filled them in as best he could about Tony's side wound—"the rebar is still in there!" one nurse exclaimed as she freed Tony's side from the swaths of duct tape and pushed both her hands against the newly bleeding wound.

The other medical staff were talking about infection and fever, getting Tony's temperature down, ordering bags of blood, fluids, and morphine, before they stepped aside to let the next wave do their jobs. Braces were slid into place then the gurney and a majority of the staff were moving.

Rhodey stepped forward to follow them into the elevator but one nurse, who was slightly behind the rest, gently caught Rhodey's arm. "We can't have the suit in the building, Colonel," he said.

Rhodey nodded then walked over to the corner of the roof furthest from the landing pad. The suit peeled open and he had just leaned forward to step out when a bolt of concern shot through him. If he was being honest, the feeling had bothered him the entire flight, he just hadn't been able to pay it any attention while Tony was bleeding out in his arms.

Now though, with Tony retrieving treatment and nothing for Rhodey to do but wait, the feeling jumped to the forefront of his brain. Before he could even consider acting on it though, he needed to make sure Tony would be safe first.

"Is Miss Potts here?" Rhodes called across the roof, where the nurse was still waiting for him by the elevator.

"She's already waiting in pre-op with Mr. Hogan."

Rhodes considered this for a second, cursed under his breath, then leaned back in the suit. "Have her call me with any updates," he said as the Iron Patriot armor closed around him and he blasted off.

As much as he wanted to believe otherwise, Rhodey didn't really have a choice in how to spend the next few hours. He and Steve would always disagree on how the Siberia situation was handled, but at the end of the day, Steve and Bucky, both injured, were heading into a Hydra base and needed all the help they could get. It didn't mean they were all going to be friends after this—there was still a lot of ground that needed to be covered and reparations to be made—but it didn't mean the two supersoldiers deserved to go into that base without additional firepower.

If there was anything Rhodey could have done for Tony, he would have stayed. But all he would have done is sit in the waiting room and hope and pray and worry.

At least here, he was doing something concrete by ensuring those Hydra members who hurt his friend would pay for what they'd done.

He only hoped Tony would understand.

* * *

Steve continued down the hallway of the New Order compound but stopped when he realized he wasn't being followed. He turned back around to find Bucky ripping up a shirt from one of the guards he'd shot a moment ago, and wrapping it tightly around his hand, which had begun to bleed again. When he reached the end of the shirt, Bucky started to tuck what remained into the folds.

Steve knew would absolutely not hold up in any sort of combat situation. "Give it here," he said, holding out his own hand.

Barnes did wordlessly, allowing Steve to knot the two ends of the cloth together.

"How bad is it?"

"Already healing," Bucky said as he relieved the guards of their weapons then either clipped them to his belt or slung them over his shoulder. He looked briefly at Steve's shield then held out a gun, which Steve didn't hesitate to accept.

"Who else is here?" Bucky asked a little while later, as he pressed himself against the wall and peered around the corner.

"Widow, Hawk, Falcon," Steve replied, obeying SHILELD's 'no names over the comms' protocol, despite the fact that the team's identities had mostly been made public after after Hydragate 2014.

The three in question hadn't been pleased to hear that Steve had decided to go back into the base with Barnes, but after much swearing, they'd informed Steve that they would enter from the far side of the building and sweep from the basement up, while they waited for the tac team from New York.

"They should stay in the jet," Bucky insisted.

"You can tell them that." Steve heard a soft click in front of him and lunged forward, dropping to his knees behind the shield. His leg screamed in pain and he felt his skin tear open in more than a few places, but he forced himself to hunker down just as a set of bullets pinged uselessly against the edge of his shield.

A gun fired above his head and a body hit the ground a few yards away.

Steve waited for a second attack, but after hearing nothing but silence, he hauled himself to his feet. "What is our exact plan after sweeping for innocents?"

"Lab."

Concerned by Bucky's one word answer, Steve looked over just in time to see his friend's eyes narrowing. Then Bucky spun around and fired behind him. Two more men cried out, then fell into the hallway.

"Center of the building," Bucky continued as he swapped magazines. "You're bleeding," he then added, pointing to Steve's leg.

"It's superficial. What's in the lab?"

Barnes looked at him curiously. "Explosive material," he replied with a tone that indicated that should have been obvious.

Steve understood that want with every fiber of his being—Hydra had taken his friend away from him, tortured and brainwashed him for seventy years and forced him to do unspeakable things; as if that wasn't enough, the modern offshoot, the New Order, had abducted and beaten both Tony and Bucky. Steve wanted nothing more than to make them pay by keeping his base from ever being functional again. But the logical part of his brain was interfering, reminding him there could be information here about other bases, operatives, information that could help them wipe Hydra off the map for good.

"Buck—"

"I'm blowing it up Steve." Then as if Bucky had heard Steve's thoughts, he added, "if you want any of the information, you'll have to act fast."

"Did you hear that?" Steve said into his comms.

Natasha, Clint and Sam voiced the affirmative.

"Do _not_ split up," Steve ordered as he and Bucky rounded the turn. "We save who we save."

There was some muffled discussions on the far end of the comms before Natasha spoke into them again: "We have an idea but it's going to make our presence known."

Steve looked up at the alarms that had been flashing and screeching since before he arrived. "I don't think that's going to be a problem. Go for it."

* * *

Rhodey had just landed on the roof of the compound where he heard Natasha's voice blaring through what must have been a speaker system.

"You are surrounded by SHIELD," she began, "one of the most technically-advanced government agencies in existence. They have just put out a kill order for everyone occupying this base. However, we don't believe everyone is here willingly. Those who want to cooperate should come down to the main floor. The more information you give us, the better deal we can make. We will fight those who don't with extreme prejudice."

"Did we just—" Rhodey queried incredulously.

"Yup!" Clint chirped, before two gunshots sounded. "Second floor's clear," he added a beat later.

"Is that actually going to work?"

"Seems to be," Steve replied after Rhodey heard a sharp clink. "How's T—our friend?"

"In surgery." Regret once again surged through Rhodey for leaving his friend, but he pushed those feelings away. He was needed here, to stop a potential threat; as soon as the building was secure, he'd be back at Tony's side. "Where do you want me?"

"Ground floor garage, west side of the building, fielding innocents," Steve replied.

Rhodey didn't take offense to the outdoors assignment. He understood the intent was for him to protect the agents who wanted to surrender from those who might resort to violence to keep their coworkers from talking.

"Stay alert," Steve added a beat later.

"Will do."

Rhodey fired up the feet thrusters and flew to the opening to the garage where he and Steve had entered before. After landing, he raised his glowing right repulsor as a warning, then stepped back into the building.

* * *

The New Order compound seemed to be occupied by skeleton staff at best. After a full sweep, no additional prisoners had been found and only a few techs on Steve and Bucky's level had given themselves up, the rest having been willing to die for their cause. Unfortunately, there wasn't a whole lot of readily available information either. Steve took as many hard drives as he could and memorized all the maps and diagrams he came across, but overall the compound didn't seem to be a place that saw a lot of use.

The teams kept in contact but there had been no updates from Rhodes about Stark, which Bucky refused to believe was anything other than good news. If something had happened, they would have heard.

When they finished the floor above the one Clint and Natasha were clearing, Bucky grabbed Steve's shoulder with his left hand, then used his right to haul Steve's ear closer to his mouth. "You all should evacuate," he said into Steve's comm.

He then released his friend, who bounced upright and pawed at the aching shell of his ear. "You just had to ask for my comm," Steve scowled.

"I don't know why you didn't bring me one."

"Because we were supposed to get you out of here!"

In lieu of answering, Bucky picked up one of the jugs he'd retrieved from the janitor's closet down the hallway and shoved it at Steve. He then tucked the second under his flesh arm and headed down the stairs down to the main level.

About two steps in, Bucky realized the stairs had been a bad idea. The stims were beginning to wear off, which meant his injuries were making themselves known again. His leg was aching with renewed vigor, and each downward step sent a bolt of pain all the way up to his shoulder. But he wasn't going to stop now, not with his final objective so close.

"Have Nat make another announcement," he ground out as he took another two stairs. "The building is going up in ten."

Once they reached the landing of the floor with the lab, Bucky uncapped his jug and began sloshing its contents behind them. When they reached the lab itself, Bucky stopped but motioned for Steve to continue spreading accelerant in the opposite direction. Steve looked less than thrilled about the implied separation, but nodded and did as he was asked.

Bucky then entered the lab, pointedly ignoring the smears of blood on the floor, and discovered the Iron Man suit was gone. He hadn't planned on taking it with, if it had been still there, but he hadn't liked the idea of leaving it behind, in case it didn't burn as completely as he hoped. The last thing he needed was Hydra getting their hands on the remains of the weapon they'd wanted so badly. He shot a quick note of thanks to whomever had removed it, then rifled through the cabinets until he found what he was looking for.

By the time Steve had returned, Bucky had assembled a chemical mix in his original jug, which was sitting in the path where the other two trails of accelerant met. Bucky held a small vial in his hand, ready to pour it into the jug as soon as he knew the rest of the team was clear.

"Are we clear?" he asked and heard Steve repeat the question into the comms. He heard a quick motion from off to his right, but didn't look up, not wanting to take his eyes off the mixture in front of him. He was having a hard enough time holding the vial still, even though he was concentrating on it with all his strength.

"Yes or no, Steve?"

"Yes," Steve replied, apparently having realized Bucky wasn't looking over at him. "Everyone is clear."

Bucky blinked away the sweat that was dripping down his brow. "Okay, you head for the garage."

"I'm not leaving you!"

"You're hurt. It's going to take you longer to get there than I am."

"You got shot in the leg! I should be the one—"

"Steve… " Bucky's tone was low and warning. He didn't have time for his friend's lack of self-preservation, especially since his idea of burning down the lab was half-baked at best. The compound hadn't had any of the equipment he'd been hoping for, like C4 or other actual explosives, but he'd had too much training over the past seventy years to let that stop him. His mixture was equally explosive but more dangerous, since the window to get to safety was only the time it took for the chemicals to react. They were looking at fifteen seconds, twenty max.

As if on cue, his injuries began to throb with more intensity and Bucky resorted to his Soldier training to keep them at bay.

"We go together or not at all," Steve stated.

That defiant tone triggered a slew of memories for Bucky, most of which ended with both of them needing medical attention; it wasn't like today was going to be any different. He cursed softly and set his jaw. "Fine. When I drop this, run. Left, second right, third left to the garage."

Steve suddenly tensed. Despite not wanting to take his eyes off the mixture in front of him, Bucky looked up to see Steve standing at attention, his shield held protectively out in front of him.

"What is it?" Bucky asked, his lips barely moving as he began to carefully lower the vial to the ground, a safe distance away from the explosive mixture. He trusted Steve's instincts and didn't want to risk accidentally mixing the explosive until he knew they could both make a run for it.

"Don't know."

As Bucky's fingers began inching back toward where his assault rifle rested, Steve bent his knees and shifted so his right foot was in front of the left—a perfect combat stance. "Identify yourself," he ordered.

There was no verbal response but a man stepped into the hallway, leaning back to accommodate the weight of the large, glowing weapon in his hand.

By the time Bucky's fingers closed around the grip of his rifle, Steve had already reared back and thrown his shield. It was maybe a touch more lopsided than what Bucky would deem normal, but it was still a powerful throw, more than enough to knock the weapon from the man's grip.

Yet, almost inconceivably, the man stepped to the side and the shield bounced uselessly off the wall behind him. In the split second that followed, the man lifted the barrel of his weapon slightly, using it to catch the straps of the shield as it returned. The shield crashed to the ground and skidded to a stop almost perfectly between him and the superheroes.

The barrel of gun glowed blue and, in the ensuing wash of light, Bucky saw the evil grin spread over the man's face. It was the man who had been holding the camera while his cohorts had beaten him and Tony. Bucky knew without question he was the leader of this backwater Hydra offshoot.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Asset," the leader said as he shifted the gun to his left so it pointed fully at Steve, who was now without his shield. Steve froze in the midst of reaching for the handgun he'd been forced to holster, in order to carry the jug of accelerant.

"Do it, Buck," Steve ordered, his eyes hard flints of ice even in the dim lighting.

The barrel of the leader's gun glowed even brighter and a familiar, low humming sound echoed through the hallway.

Bucky swallowed hard and put down his rifle.

"Push it away," the man ordered and, reluctantly, Bucky did.

"You too Captain."

Steve's glare only increased in intensity as he lowered down his gun to the ground and kicked it away. "Grey, I presume?" he asked as he straightened back up.

The man nodded.

"What do you want?"

"To escape."

"Not going to happen."

"It will with the two of you walking me out of here." He nudged the gun slightly in Bucky's direction. "On your feet, Asset."

Bucky had no choice but to rise. He had no options, not with his gun and Steve's shield out of reach. If push came to shove, he could always detonate his bomb, but he needed to exhaust all possibilities of getting Steve out of there safely first. _That_ required a change in position and ground. The only way to do that, at the moment, was to play along.

He did overplay his injuries though, standing with only a fraction of his weight whatsoever on his right leg. It pained him to show this weakness but if it bought them an opening later on, it'd be well worth it.

"After what you've done, they're not just going to let you go," Steve was saying.

"They won't have a choice." Then Grey cocked his head then looked up at the ceiling. "Call off your dogs," he told Steve, tightening his grip on the trigger of his gun, "or I disintegrate them."

Steve very slowly lifted his hand to his ear. "Stand down," he ordered. "Code Beta. Auth 196."

The sound Grey had heard must have stopped, since he turned his attention back to Steve. "Take out your ear bud," he ordered. "Toss it to me." His gun then swiveled to focus on Bucky, who glared daggers at Grey in response. "No tricks."

Steve did as he was asked, tossing the ear bud in a high arc to Grey, who braced the gun against his hip then used his left hand to slip the bud into his ear.

"The Avengers, I presume?" he queried into the comm, his eyes never leaving Steve and Bucky.

"Plan?" Bucky muttered quietly. His words were little more than a exhale, in hopes Steve's superhearing would pick it up.

Steve's eyes flickered ever so briefly to Bucky's left, where the third vial sat.

"We will be coming out in ten minutes—" Grey was saying on the other side of the room.

Bucky imperceptibly shook his head. Mixing the bomb now was a bad plan. Too little time to get them out, even if they could separate the man from his gun.

"—Captain Rogers, followed by me, then Sergeant Barnes. Any attempt to separate us will result in the deaths of your teammates." To prove his point, Grey's gun whirred again but didn't fire. The sound however was definitely loud enough to be picked up by the comms.

The corner of Steve's mouth dropped a fraction. He looked again to Bucky's left then at Grey.

Ah, a distraction. The vial would work well for that.

Steve's eyes flickered to the left, then down, then to the right, and up. The gestures were again so small that Grey, thirty feet away, wouldn't have noticed but Bucky clearly understood their meaning. _You go down, I'll go up_.

They'd done a lot worse during the war with a lot less planning.

Now they just needed an opening so Barnes could grab the vial. It was on the ground beneath his left arm, so all he'd need to do was drop and throw, giving Steve enough time to launch himself at his shield. Bucky's throw would have to be perfect though, given how fast Grey reacted to Steve's shield earlier; it would have to target center mass, so Grey would have to move his entire body to get out of the way.

Bucky inhaled normally, then began shoving his aches and pains into the box he'd long ago learned to block out. His throbbing leg went first, followed by the stabbing pain in his hand. When he was done a moment later, all he felt was the rush of his blood in his veins.

Grey was still talking into the comms, which meant he was suitably distracted. Bucky glanced over at Steve, who blinked, resting his eyes just a second too long in the closed position.

 _Now_.

* * *

 **Based on the number of comments, I guess you guys _really_ liked the last chapter. :) Hopefully this one met your expectations as well!**

 **Just two more chapters left, and lots of comfort to combat all the hurt I put these characters through!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


	11. Chapter 11

Thankfully, Tony's surgery went smoothly. The rebar had been removed, and the infection around the entrance wound treated with a round of heavy-hitting antibiotics. His other injuries had also been attended to, but none of them were as serious as the injury to his side.

According to the doctors who were updating Rhodey, Pepper and Happy now that Tony was in post-up, Barnes really _had_ saved Tony's life by leaving the rebar in. Even though it had shifted some over the course of the last day, it had kept Tony from bleeding out, and had kept the bacteria in his guts from flooding his abdominal cavity. With rounds of physical therapy, regular checkups, and some mandated leave from the Avengers, the staff were hopeful Tony would make a full recovery.

Rhodey and Pepper had stayed by Tony's side for most of the night, following his progress as he was moved from post-op to a regular room. Happy had only spent a few minutes in Tony's actual room before heading off to run background checks on Tony's medical team and secure lodging until Tony was well enough to be transferred or released.

It was only when Pepper began to drift off, that Rhodey suggested she take Happy's offer of a nearby hotel suite for the night. Pepper looked reluctant to leave, but eventually did, after politely but firmly instructing the nursing staff to call her with any changes.

Even though the remaining New Order members were in SHIELD custody, Rhodey felt better walking Pepper down to the main floor, where Happy met them at the employee entrance. He provided her the standard cap, sunglasses, and thick coat, despite the dead of night, then escorted her from the hospital.

As Rhodey walked back into Tony's room, he was surprised to find Steve Rogers sitting by Tony's bedside. "You're still here?" he asked.

Steve whipped around and grabbed at the rolling IV stand he was connected to, obviously ready to use it as a weapon.

"It's Rhodes," the Colonel said, lifting his hands to his shoulders to show he meant to harm.

Steve blinked at Rhodey then released the IV pole and scrubbed his left hand across his eyes. "Sorry," he mumbled blearily.

Despite the fact that the serum had had a few hours to work, Rhodey couldn't help but notice Steve wasn't looking a whole lot better than Tony was. The cut over his hairline had opened again and the rest of his face was covered in an assortment of brightly-colored bruises. White bandages ran the length of Steve's right leg, visible through the gaps between the metal snaps of Steve's sweatpants, and his right ankle was secured in a grey walking boot. An intravenous line trailed from his right elbow to a bag of lime green solution hanging from the IV stand; no doubt it was a super-soldier special cooked up by Bruce or Tony from back in the day. How exactly Steve had gotten it at Mt. Sinai, though, was another question all together.

"You're going to get court-martialed," Rhodes stated, just a fact, not a threat. He had no interest in arresting Steve himself, but the supersoldier's continued presence only increased the chance of Ross or his team going back on their word now that Tony was safe.

"The Raft can't hold me."

Steve's tone was so defiant and self-assured, and so far from the sleepy statement of a minute ago, that Rhodey couldn't help but look over at Steve in surprise. The supersoldier's eyes were shining with determination but, after a moment, his expression softened.

"Unless _you_ think I should go? I don't want to stress Tony out..."

Rhodey considered this as he lowered himself into the seat beside Steve then tapped at his hip to disable the exoskeleton. His back was burning from wearing it for longer than advised, but Rhodey needed it to maintain readiness, in case a situation arose. He didn't have the same abilities in his wheelchair, no matter how many modifications Tony made to it. "I don't know if you will or not," Rhodey said, after a pause. "But what I do know is that it'd be better for you to stay, and for him to tell you to go, than for you to just disappear."

Steve nodded then shifted back into his chair with a wince.

Judging by how fast Steve wiped the expression from his face, it hadn't been done for show, which left Rhodey once again wondering why the normally fast-healing supersoldier still looked like crap. "You going to be okay?" he asked. Rhodey had been striving for a more disinterested tone, given that the post-Siberia tension was bubbling back to the surface now that the crisis was over and his friend was safe, but was surprised to hear genuine concern in his words.

Steve must not have found it strange, for he just looked at Rhodes and nodded again. "Out of the boot by the end of the week. Hopefully the bandages much sooner."

That seemed about average for supersoldier healing time, which meant Steve was either lying through his teeth, or had been telling the truth yesterday when he'd said the serum was just a little overworked. Somewhat surprisingly, Rhodey found himself glad to hear it.

"And Barnes?" Rhodey then asked. His feelings about Siberia and the UN fight aside, Barnes had saved Tony's life multiple times in the last twenty-four hours, even volunteered to be beaten in Tony's place—the least Rhodey could do was see how he was doing.

Steve looked similarly surprised by the question but answered all the same. "Gunshot wound was a through-and-through but he picked up an infection around the exit wound. He's got twenty stitches in his hand, and his vitals are all over the map from being shocked." Steve's jaw clenched, before he took a deep breath and finished, "He's got some physical therapy ahead of him but he's supposed to make a full recovery."

"That's good to hear." And Rhodey found he really meant that too.

"He doesn't think he should be here," Steve continued, somewhat unnecessarily. "Thinks he's putting everyone here in danger."

"Is he?"

"Not according to Shuri."

Rhodey didn't know who that was, but he could see from Steve's expression that he was telling the truth. Honestly, Rhodes had never doubted that fact. Despite their differences over the past few years, Steve wasn't the kind who would risk innocent lives just to prove a point. Based on how Barnes had acted over the past day as well, Rhodey got a sense Barnes wouldn't have agreed to come on this mission unless he too was certain he was free from whatever had triggered him at the UN.

"So why aren't you down with him?"

"He's getting a chest CT," Steve replied glumly. "I wasn't allowed to go in."

Before Rhodes could reply, Tony's heart rate monitor chirped loudly. The two Avengers waited with baited breath to see if Tony was coming around but, unfortunately, he stilled and the machine returned to its slow, repetitive clicking.

"How is Tony, actually?" Steve asked, after a few long minutes. "I couldn't find a nurse so I skimmed his file—I only read the notes from today," he amended when Rhodey fixed him with a disapproving look. "I just had to know."

It only through great practice that Rhodey managed a civil reply. "Then you know as much as I do."

The conversation lapsed again, this time for almost twice the length of the previous one. Rhodey didn't press though, and instead watched the oxygen mask around Tony's nose and mouth fog with signs of life.

Once again, it was Steve who broke the silence. "I'm sorry about everything," he said softly. "I know Tony came to help, but when he saw the tape, he tried to kill Bucky. I couldn't let that happen. It wasn't just that Bucky is my friend—I knew Tony would be thinking differently once he'd had time to process—"

"Time to process…" Rhodey repeated incredulously.

"You know what I mean, Rhodes—time to realize it wasn't really Bucky. That he was just the weapon not the mastermind." Steve glanced at Rhodey out of the corner of his eye then straightened up, almost defensively. "And if you're wondering how I see all this playing out, I know Tony's probably never going to be okay with Bucky and, if that's what he really wants, I won't force them to be around each other. But Bucky didn't deserve to die. He's done a lot of things, but he's innocent of killing Howard and Maria. Tony didn't need his blood on his hands."

Rhodey was quiet for a long moment as he absorbed Steve's words. In all the time they'd known each other, Rhodey couldn't recall having a conversation like this with the supersoldier. Sure they had hung out together when everyone was living in the New Base and had argued during the Accords, but they'd never had this sort of deep discussion. It was strange, but it also felt incredibly right to finally be discussing the events of six months ago. "You still should have told him," was all Rhodey said.

"I know… But I wasn't sure. Then as time passed and I couldn't find any other leads, it just became harder and harder."

Then Steve shifted so he was facing Rhodey straight on. "I don't expect you to forgive me, James, but you have to understand I never meant to hurt Tony. I was trying to _not_ hurt him by not telling him, but I ended up making it worse. Then we were fighting and I had to take out the suit before one of us did something we were going to regret." In an instant, his gaze turned almost desperate. "I would have _never_ left him alone in Siberia, especially after I had just knocked the power out of his suit. We made sure T'Challa would take him back before we left."

"You had to know it was going to come out eventually," Rhodey countered. There was no way Steve was that naive.

Thankfully the supersoldier just nodded. "I did. But I still couldn't make myself bring it up—I finally had a new family. It was selfish but I didn't want to mess it up." Then Steve fell silent and rubbed at his uninjured knee. "I never expected things with Ross and the Council to go the way they did," he continued softly. "When I heard, I wasn't sure if I should come back, or whether that'd just make it worse."

"So you stayed away."

Steve nodded again. "But I didn't stay in Wakanda either; it wasn't right for me to be imposing on T'Challa's hospitality like that. I tried to help people, to do what Captain America was originally supposed to do before politics got involved.

"We were visiting Wakanda for a day when T'Challa's team intercepted some intel about the attack on Ellis. Bucky had just been cleared by multiple parties so it seemed as good a first outing as any. We didn't know you were going to get called in."

Either Steve was waiting for a reply for Rhodey or he'd said all he needed to say, since he returned to scanning the screens above Tony's head, while Rhodey replayed their entire conversation in his head.

The speech had been so quintessentially Steve, somehow both apologetic and not. But, after all this time, Rhodes finally understood the whole fiasco wasn't just about Bucky Barnes. It was about Steve protecting someone who had been unfairly treated, and trying to protect a great deal more people from a perceived threat. But the fact that that person had been Bucky, who had such a checkered history with the rest of the Avengers, meant that people were going to disagree about the right course of action. Tony had, until he'd learned about the other Winter Soldiers, but that ended up being exactly what Zemo wanted. Both he and Steve had done what they thought was right, which somehow lessened the last vestiges of anger in Rhodes' chest.

Bucky was obviously still Steve's blind spot (much in the same way Tony was Rhodey's), but at least Steve hadn't been so far gone that he hadn't seen reason. And for that reason alone, maybe one day, they could work together again.

An odd sensation came over him but, rather than try to identify the feeling, Rhodes just turned his head back to Tony, to confirm that his friend's condition hadn't worsened since he last checked. When it was sure nothing had changed for the worse, he said, "You know I'm not the one you need to be having this conversation with."

"I do," Steve replied. "But it'll be on his terms. Whenever he's ready." Then Steve glanced back at Rhodes and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "Besides, I figured I owed you at least as this much. I'm sure things haven't easy for you either."

Rhodes made a noncommittal sound, then settled back into his chair and opened the crossword puzzle app on his phone to pass the time. It had been a suggestion from his therapist right after his accident, to take his mind away from his paralysis and get it focused on something he could actively fix.

"Five letter word for a 'brief movie appearance'," he said aloud.

Steve must have recognized the olive branch for what it was, since he too sunk back into his chair and smiled ever so slightly. "Cameo."

* * *

By the time Bucky was supposed to be done with his scan, Steve and Rhodey had finished two of the four themed crossword puzzles and the floor nurse had removed Steve's IV. Steve had looked almost apologetic as he excused himself to go check on his friend, but before he left, Steve had given Rhodey the number to the old-fashioned flip phone in his pocket and instructed him to call him if Tony's condition changed.

Given that his presence in the hospital was under great scrutiny from the public, Steve didn't chance taking the elevator to Bucky's non-ICU floor, and instead chose the stairs. They weren't easy to take with his broken ankle, but he managed by leaning heavily on the rail and hopping down them two at a time.

Somehow, he still managed to beat Bucky back to his room. Relieved no one else was around, Steve dropped into the seat beside Bucky's bed, wiped the sweat off his forehead, and focused on levelling his breathing. By the time Bucky rolled back into the room, pushed by Justine, this floor's day nurse, Steve was no longer wheezing and had fixed a smile firmly back on his face.

"How are you feelin'?" he asked as soon as Bucky appeared in the doorway.

"Ready to get out of here," his friend declared. He then swiveled around to face Justine, and fixed her with his most winning smile; the sight tugged painfully on Steve's heartstrings as it reminded him of the old days, before the serum, the war and Hydra. "Maybe _you_ could set me free?" Bucky asked, raising his eyebrows to compliment the plea.

"No such luck," Justine replied as she snapped on the wheelchair's brakes. "Your injuries need time to heal, and the surgeon wants to take another look at your hand tomorrow. You need at least two more nights here—more if you don't actually follow our instructions and rest."

In less than a second, Bucky's grin morphed into a deep frown. He turned to Steve, who evaluated Justine's confident expression and understood that arguing would be futile. He shrugged his apology, which merited him a displeased look from Bucky in return.

"Fine," Bucky then scowled before carefully easing himself back into bed. "I'll rest. For two nights only."

"Good choice." Justine began humming humming softly under her breath while she reattached various monitors and stuffed a pillow under Bucky's right knee. She asked if he needed anything and, when he responded in the negative, she left to continue her rounds.

"But seriously," Bucky said as soon as she was gone, "it's time for me to go, right? There's way too much exposure here, and I'm stable enough to leave. _You_ probably want to stay until Stark wakes up, which you need to, but I can take the jet back with Sam and Natasha."

"Bucky, you almost died—" Steve interjected but he was cut off by a indignant, "I did not."

Steve glared at Bucky, who returned the look full-force.

"Debatable," Steve finally conceded. "But you need rest and treatment here, not in a hotel in the middle of nowhere." It was only after the words left his mouth that Steve realized he had no idea what Bucky wanted to do now that the trigger words were out of his head. His comment assumed Bucky would join him and the rest of the team on the road, fighting the battles no one else could. Now that he was thinking about it, though, Bucky might want to go back to Wakanda and continue to work with Shuri on regaining other aspects of himself. Or, for that matter, he might want to settle down somewhere like he'd done in Romania, and just _be_.

Bucky's expression faltered, but before he could speak, Steve charged forward and changed subjects. "As for the rest of it, you weren't caught on any of the cameras coming in—just Tony and me. You're also being treated under an alias, and Pepper has had everyone who comes in contact with either of you sign an NDA."

Bucky blinked. "She what?"

Steve nodded.

"Even after…"

Steve nodded again. "Pepper is truly a unique woman."

"Wow. Stark's lucky to have her," Bucky said without an ounce of sarcasm. He reached down and adjusted the pillow under his leg before asking, "Speaking of Tony…"

"He's still unconscious," Steve reported, "but the docs think he'll wake up soon."

"Then you guys going to talk?"

"If he wants to."

"Good," Bucky said, with a wide smile. Then he leaned his head back and allowed his eyes to drift closed.

Steve watched Bucky's chest rise and fall for a minute then, before his friend could actually fall asleep, he reached out and tapped Bucky's arm. "Buck."

"Shh," his friend grinned lopsidedly, eyes still closed. "I'm resting."

"Be serious for a minute."

Bucky groaned loudly, then rolled his head to the right, so he was looking at Steve. "What?"

It wasn't that Bucky had ever confessed to disliking hospitals but, after all he'd been through under Hydra's control, Steve couldn't help but be concerned by his friend's alarmingly calm demeanor. "Are you really okay with staying? If not, we can get your discharge instructions and go somewhere less open."

Bucky was quiet for a long moment before he responded. "Do I like being here, so publically exposed, even after Zemo was charged with blowing up the UN? No. But do I know I need to be here, because this is where some very important people are, and I don't want to take them away from each other? Yes. And fortunately, that second one is the impulse I'm going to act on." He shifted uncomfortably in his bed then shot Steve a sidelong glance. "But if you could also not be _too_ far away, especially when they're poking and prodding me, that'd help a lot."

Steve reached out and laid his hand on Bucky's, mindful of where the neat row of stitches were. "Won't be a problem."

* * *

Natasha was sitting in the interrogation room at the New SHIELD base, staring evenly at the man on the far side of the table. He was bruised and battered but still had all functions and appendages, much to her and Clint's disapproval. Steve and Barnes had done what had been necessary to incapacitate Grey and get him out of the building alive, but the tac team had been none too gentle loading him into the transport van. Now, with the cameras recording, Natasha had to be on her best behavior, which meant not physically harming the suspect unless absolutely necessary.

Apparently New SHIELD and Ross had reached an agreement, where SHIELD would work the case on their end, but then hand it over to Ross, tied up with a bow. It'd give the Department of Defense a very public win, which would go a long way to restore the country's faith in both Ross and the department; it would also give New SHIELD leverage for a later situation. Natasha suspected with a fair amount of certainty that that leverage would be used to get the charges against Steve and his crew for the Leipzig incident dropped.

Grey hadn't spoken a word in the six hours he'd been in the alone, or the twenty minutes Natasha been in the room with him, but thanks to his fingerprint analysis, she was in possession of a thick stack of paper detailing every bit of his life that he'd tried so hard to wipe off the grid. Grey's real name was Jason Grey. He was born in Skowhegan, Maine, had had a rather ordinary upbringing, but had done his best to drop off the grid eight years ago. Fortunately, SHIELD's techs were the best, and had uncovered Grey's digital trail with ease.

Natasha's phone buzzed softly and she flipped it over, tilting the screen down so Grey couldn't read it in the reflection of the one-way observation window.

The text was from Rhodey. _T coming around. Moved B to the same floor to avoid PR nightmare for P._

That was excellent news.

She put her phone down, screen facing the table, then interlaced her fingers and leaned forward slightly.

"We know who you are," she said, watching his face for a reaction.

Grey just quirked an eyebrow at her and waited for her to continue.

"Jason Grey. Leader of the New Order, a group which, as of six hours ago, no longer exists."

His eyes flashed but he remained silent.

"Your base is burned to the ground. Your intel is gone. Whatever else you had, we'll know about soon. We are tracing every transaction, every covert dealing of yours back to its source. Soon, we'll know about your whole network." Natasha grinned ferally. "And they'll all know it was you who sprung the leak."

Grey's expression darkened and his Adam's apple bobbed.

"You didn't like that," Natasha said as she leaned back in her chair. "I didn't think you would. You wouldn't want your bosses to think you aren't loyal to the cause. Who knows what they would do to you?"

"They've never had any reason to question my loyalty," Grey spat out. Natasha could now positively identify him as the voice on the Skype call, which added about another five or ten years to his sentence.

"They will." Natasha paused for dramatic emphasis, then shrugged as she pretended to reconsider her last statement. "Or you can tell me what I want to know."

Grey shook his head.

"This is your final chance," Natasha said as she stood up.

Grey mimed zipping his lips and throwing away the key.

"Okay." Natasha left Grey's interrogation room then walked across the hall to where the New Order's second-in-command, the dark-haired Jake Bradley, codename Purple, was being held. She used the same approach as she had on Grey, emphasizing how unhappy their bosses were going to be, since chances were, Bradley had a lot less interaction with the upper echelons, which meant rumors that he wasn't as loyal were going to be taken more seriously. Bradley initially refused to comment, but she'd seen genuine fear in a brief slip of his expression and knew she'd been correct in her assumption.

She stayed her course and, two hours later, Bradley was typing up everything he knew about the New Order, including members, other names he'd heard in passing, and descriptions of people he'd seen visit, in exchange for a lighter sentence. The one thing he hadn't known, even after the suggestion of maximum security, was where Stark's fifty million had gone.

Once he was three pages deep into his story, Natasha left the room, grabbed a cup of coffee, and returned to observation where she watched Grey stare at the ceiling, seeming unperturbed by his situation.

Three hours and two burned approaches later, Natasha knew how she could both not physically harm Grey and still get the information she needed. After berating herself for not thinking of it earlier, she texted Vision, who phased through the doorway not five minutes after she'd sent the text. Natasha explained her plan then left Vision in observation while she went to visit Grey again.

They had all the information they wanted, plus some additional information Bradley had not been privy to, less than ten minutes later.

* * *

 **Only one more chapter, which contains a much needed conversation, left!** **Thanks for all your support!**


	12. Chapter 12

When Tony drifted back into consciousness, the first thing he noticed was that it was warm. He heard voices speaking and froze, not wanting to give his awareness away to the New Order, but then he heard an advertisement for a mascara brand and realized it was a television. It was possible he was still at the compound, so he lay still until his memory started to return. Once he remembered seeing Rhodey—and Steve—standing in the doorway of the garage, he felt comfortable enough to try to open his eyelids. It took a monumental effort, but after a brief struggle, he was successful.

The world was a blur and it took three more blinks for both eyes to focus on the same thing. In this case, that thing was Rhodey, who was sitting at the foot of the bed, back turned toward Tony so he could watch the television hanging from the ceiling.

Drained from just opening his eyes, Tony couldn't muster up the energy to speak, so lay there silently while the sounds from the television washed over him. If he wasn't mistaken—but he might have been, given how hard he was working to stay focused—it was that hip hop drama Rhodey liked.

A few minutes later, Tony was actually successful in opening his mouth, and he forced out a weak "hey" before his body realized its mistake. His voice was rough and barely audible to his own ears but somehow Rhodey must have heard it.

His friend immediately turned around, a wide smile breaking over his face seconds later. "Hey yourself," he said, as he stood up and leaned over Tony. "You with us for good this time?"

Tony nodded or at least, he tried to. Whatever he ended up doing, Rhodey must have understood for his smile only grew. "We'll have this conversation again when you're not on massively strong painkillers, but I'm seriously thinking about chipping you, like a runaway dog. It'll short-circuit the whole 'worry and retrieval' stage. What do you think?"

Tony nodded again, not because he agreed with whatever Rhodey had just said, but because he was losing his grip on consciousness and needed to know one very important thing.

"Get 'em?"

"We got them," Rhodey confirmed. "Those who surrendered are being interrogated by New SHIELD; the rest died for their cause. Plus," he grinned widely, "we got your money back. All..."

Tony's eyes must have slipped closed, since he found himself once again fighting to open them. Some time must have passed for sun was now streaming in through the window, and Rhodey was sitting beside his bed, reading a book.

"Hey," Rhodey said as he glanced up at the monitors above Tony's head.

This time, Tony was awake enough to immediately remember what had happened. Knowing he was safe in a hospital with Rhodey looking out for him, he bypased Rhodey's question and looked down at his side, which was packed with gauze and wrapped with bandages, but was no longer lumpy with the stub of rebar.

"They took it out," Rhodey said, before Tony could ask the question himself. "Stitched you up and gave you antibiotics for the infection. The rest of your wounds are supposed to heal on their own."

 _Well that was good_.

Another question jumped to the forefront of Tony's mind and he heard himself asking it before his brain could get involved. "Barnes?"

"He's stable. He'll be out of here long before you."

Be _out? Not_ was _out?_

"They're still here?" Tony croaked.

To Tony's surprise, Rhodey's face fractured with concern. "The first thing you gotta know is that I have a suit," his friend said, pointing for the far left corner of the room. Tony followed Rhodey's extended finger to see Iron Patriot standing in sentry mode, eye lights glowing softly. "It's been here since Barnes was mobile," Rhodey continued. "I wanted to make sure you felt safe, no matter what."

That was a lot of loosely related comments, that Tony might have been able to string together on a better day. Today though, they just washed over him in confusion.

"I don't—"

Then Rhodey was pointing again, this time to Tony's right. With great effort, Tony rolled his head in that direction to see a bearded Steve Rogers passed out in a plastic chair set in the connecting doorway leading to another hospital room. His head was leaned back against the doorjamb, his hands laced over his abdomen, and his legs were stretched out in front of him, one encased in a grey walking boot.

"He's barely left your side since you got out of surgery," Rhodey finished.

Tony knew without asking that Barnes was in the other room. Memories of the Siberia fight flashed through his mind, bringing with them a flurry of unwanted emotions, but they were tempered (slightly) by the memories of everything Barnes had done for him back in the compound. The conflict caused his heart rate to speed up, and Tony grounded himself by focusing on Rhodey, who he now realized was sitting in his wheelchair.

"You good?" he ground out as he tried to will his heartbeat back into sinus rhythm.

"Fine, Tones. Just taking my mandatory break."

Tony really needed to work on getting that break down to a more reasonable length of time. Six hours was really too long—

"You're going to hear it from someone eventually, I'd rather it be from me," Rhodey spoke up, and Tony's heart sank into his stomach.

"What?" he ground out.

"Barnes has been in multiple times to check on you."

That was not the horrible news Tony had been expecting, but Rhodey continued quickly, as if worried Tony was going to either freak out or cut him off—to be fair, both were viable options.

"He never goes past the doorway, just sticks his head in and asks how you are. Steve said he's changed but," Rhodey tipped his head toward the suit, "we can't be too careful."

Tony wasn't sure he entirely agreed with the last part of statement, but he was far too tired to argue. "We need to work on your delivery, Honey Bear," was all he said, as he once again fought to level out his heart rate.

"No secrets, right?" Rhodey replied, his gaze flicking up to Tony's monitors, until they quieted down. "He was fighting for you the whole time," Rhodey then added, tilting his head at Steve, who hadn't so much as shifted the entire time Tony had been awake. "Did whatever he could to get you back." Then Rhodey looked back at his book and pointedly turned the page. "Do with that what you will. I have your back either way."

Tony swallowed hard then looked back toward where Steve was sitting.

"Rogers!"

In the second it took Tony to realize _he_ was the one who had called Steve's name, the supersoldier jerked upright. His gaze bounced between the two rooms until it came to rest on Tony, who was fighting off feelings of panic, unease, and a strong desire to work on thinking before speaking because it always ended with him in situations like this.

His expression must have shown some combination of those things for Steve stayed seated, tucking his left ankle behind the chair leg and grabbing the chair arms with his hands. It was very obviously a gesture to show Tony he was going to stay where he was, until he was asked to do otherwise.

"It's good to see you awake," Steve said softly. "How are you feeling?"

No less than twelve snappy answers ran through Tony's head, but this time, he thought them through and settled on, "I've been better."

Steve nodded rapidly, almost spastically. "We were worried." He looked briefly at his hands then amended, " _I_ was worried." Suddenly, he glanced up at Tony, just shy of making eye contact. "I need to know if you're okay with us being here. If not, we'll go, no questions asked."

When Tony didn't immediately respond, he hurriedly continued, "I just didn't want _you_ to want to talk and find us gone, but now that you're awake, we can go, if you want."

Tony wasn't sure what expression was splashed over his face, but whatever it was caused Steve to frown, then hobble to his feet. "We'll go, sorry," he said, pressing himself as close as he could to the wall. "Glad you're okay, Tony. Really."

"Stay." Once again the words were out of Tony's mouth before he could stop them, but he found he wasn't appalled by the idea. Everything wasn't instantly forgiven after the past day, but it had gone a long way to show that things could be repaired, if it was something both sides wanted. And Tony did. The Avengers had disagreed, fought between themselves, and at worst, hadn't spoken to each other for a full week, but up until Siberia, he knew he could still count on all of them to watch his back. Unbidden, and without any promise of reparation, Steve (and Barnes) had shown that they were still willing to do that.

With time and a lot of pseudo-therapy with FRIDAY, Tony had come to realize that they'd all been pawns in Zemo's plan: the big dramatic reveal, the infighting, and the goal of tearing the Earth's defenders apart from the inside. It all could have been avoided if he or Steve had done any number of things differently. Tony acknowledged his part in the mess, but was open to at least hearing what Steve had to say about his, to see if there was anything in their relationship, and even friendship, that was worth saving.

"Sit," Tony said more assuredly as he gestured toward the empty chair by his bed. This chair happened to be on the opposite side of the bed from Rhodes, who immediately frowned and moved his hands to his wheels, ready to move to Tony's other side as well.

But Tony waved him off. He could do this; he _needed_ to do this.

On the other side of the room, Steve's eyes widened, both hopeful and uncertain. "Are you sure? Because if you're not 100% positive, I will leave right now, and we can take this up another day."

"Sit down, Steve."

All protests dropped from Steve's expression and he began to hobble over. In that same second, Tony's heartbeat began to race, which was mirrored in the rapid beeps from the monitor, and his hands turned clammy.

Steve looked up at the screens, then back down at Tony, waiting one last time for confirmation.

Tony just rolled his eyes and pointed to the seat. By the time he'd calmed himself down for the third time, Steve had perched on the edge of the chair. He seemed content to let Tony drive the conversation, but unfortunately, Tony had no idea what to do after this point.

The room remained in an uncomfortable silence before Tony finally spoke up. "Thank you."

 _For sticking around._

 _For what Rhodes said you did._

Steve just shrugged. "I needed to make sure you were okay." He looked down at Tony's side, to where the rebar had been, took a deep breath, then said, "I'm sorry, Tony. For all of it. I should have told you what I suspected but I—"

Nope, he'd been wrong. He was _so_ not ready for this. Tony knew that he still _wanted_ to talk, but was just now realizing that doing so in his hospital room, while he was on _extremely_ strong painkillers, was the wrong play.

He shook his head so quickly it began to hurt, and held up his hand to physically block the rest of Steve's words. "Nope, Rogers. I cannot do this right now."

Thankfully, Steve had stopped speaking as soon as Tony had recoiled. "Okay, sure, no problem," he said, leaning way back in his seat. "Whenever you're ready." He paused for a minute then added, "We should talk though. At some point."

 _That_ Tony completely agreed with and he vocalized as much.

"In person," Steve continued. "Because you never used the phone I sent you."

"Wasn't sure you'd answer."

Steve reached down and pulled the duplicate of the phone he'd sent Tony from his pocket. It was dinged and the top screen was cracked, but it sparked with signs of life when he hit the side button. "I meant it, Tony. If you'd've called, I would have answered."

A wave of something—Tony wasn't quite sure what—washed over him, leaving just the tiniest speck of warmth in a corner of his chest he thought had long been abandoned. Maybe there was something worth saving after all.

The room drifted into silence until Tony felt the drugs tugging him under again. He resisted their pull, because there was one thing he really needed Steve to know while he was still able to say it.

"I don't hate him, you know." Hopefully there was no mystery about who _him_ was. "But we're not friends."

Steve was again nodding rapidly, his expression nothing but understanding. "Okay, T—"

"Lemme finish. We have some stuff…" he trailed off as a yawn forced his jaw open, "...to work through. 'll of us." He had to swallow hard before he could get out the next part: "Stay in the States. Move back in."

Steve's eyes widened in surprise. "Are you sure? Ross is still around."

"If that's what you both want, we can figure something out," Rhodey chimed in, without actually looking up from his book, even though he hadn't actually turned a page since Steve had sat down.

Tony nodded, prompting Steve to do so as well.

"Okay," the supersoldier said, and if Tony wasn't mistaken, he actually sounded relieved. "We will."

"Sounds like a plan." Then Tony shifted uncomfortably because what he needed to say next wasn't something he enjoyed. With great effort, and before he lost his nerve, he forced out, "For what it's worth… I'm sorry too."

Steve smiled lopsidedly then nodded. "Just focus on getting better. We can talk about the rest later."

Despite the uncertainty and the uncomfortableness of the upcoming conversations, Tony drifted off to sleep, feeling more at ease than he had in a long time.

* * *

 _Bonus scene_

Tony stayed at the hospital for the rest of the week, while Barnes was released after only two days. He was on light duty—no heavy lifting, or strenuous activity—for another six to eight weeks but, when the trade-off was staying in the hospital or taking it easy at the Avengers Compound, there was no competition.

Even though Vision had informed Tony that Steve and Barnes had moved into the Compound the day Barnes had been released, Tony kept expecting to hear the two of them had taken off, especially after Rhodey told him just how badly Ross reacted to the news. Needless to say, Tony was somewhat surprised to find Steve waiting him as Happy pulled the limo up to the front of the Compound. They awkwardly exchanged pleasantries, then Happy drafted Steve into helping him unload the truck, for which Happy earned an extra two weeks off at the end of the year.

Tony then slowly walked into the lobby, where Pepper was just getting off the elevator. She immediately wrapped him in a hug, mindful of his healing side, and calmly informed him that if he ever put her through that again, relationship or no, she would kill him.

He got the sense she really meant it. Also, that he should have FRIDAY scan him for metal implants, à la the tracking chip Rhodey had alluded to, as soon as he was alone.

By the time he and Pepper made their way back to the common floor, Steve was already in the kitchen, helping Happy unload the groceries. Happy informed them dinner would be at seven, but Steve politely passed on the invitation, saying he'd probably already overstepped his welcome for the day. He was gone before Tony had the chance to correct or deny the statement.

Steve's decision ended up working in his favor because Tony crashed not long after dinner, with the suit standing guard at the door and Pepper fully clothed beside him.

The next morning, he woke to an email invitation for a meeting between him, Rhodey, Steve and Barnes. He and Steve had discussed their need to talk a handful of times over the past week and had both voiced concerns that the discussion would spiral out of control. Pepper had offered to hire a therapist, but he and Steve had steadfastly refused, in light of what was at stake. Instead, and only after Tony secured her a pair of reservations to the most exclusive restaurant in Manhattan, Maria Hill had agreed to moderate.

With some difficulty, Tony showered, changed, then picked at the breakfast that was waiting for him in the common room. He was joined by Rhodey, whose presence helped pass the time until the meeting. At the agreed upon time, they headed down to the specified conference room, which was located in the inner block of hallways on the main floor.

Rhodey knocked but Tony just walked right in. Both were immediately blinded by the poor lighting in the room. There appeared to be just one working overhead fixture, which left the corners of the room heavily shadowed and only illuminated the middle of long conference table. Tony flipped switches on the wall, but didn't succeed in turning on any more of the lights he knew were installed in the room.

"Call maintenance," he ordered, knowing FRIDAY was listening. "Get them down there ASAP."

By that time, his eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting enough to see Steve and Barnes sitting on the left side of the table, directly under the light. Tony's stomach clenched, but he tamped down on that feeling and he walked into the room with his head held high. He took a seat on the empty side of the table, also under the light, with Rhodey on his right.

He hadn't seen Barnes at all the last day, which he suspected was by design, much the same way Steve only stayed on the common floor in short bursts, but was not disappointed to see him looking much better than the last time Tony had seen him at Mt. Sinai.

"How the leg?" he asked, noting the cane hanging off the edge of the table.

"Getting there," Bucky responded. "And your side?"

"Healing nicely. At least that's what the overpaid doctors keep telling me."

Tony looked at Rhodey to bail him out of any additional awkward conversations, but his friend just shrugged and sat in silence. Which left Tony to fill the air with whatever was on his mind.

"Maintenance should be here shortly. These rooms don't get used much anymore. I can see why this one wasn't reported—" Tony continued, going on about the Compound and its continual upkeep until the door opened again, at which he was fairly certain he heard either Steve or Barnes (maybe both) sigh in relief.

The figure was backlit in the light from the hallway, so the four weren't immediately able to recognize who had arrived.

"Hill or maintenance?" Tony asked, squinting at the doorway.

"Neither," a very familiar male voice responded.

It was a voice Tony hadn't heard in years and he thought he was being pranked until the man stepped into the light.

"Sorry," none other than Agent Phil Coulson—presumed dead, obviously no more—said, though he sounded anything but. He pulled a device from his pocket and thumbed the side, which turned on all the light fixtures in the room. "I just couldn't help myself."

By the time four sets of eyes had adjusted and three sets of jaws had been picked up from the floor, Coulson had flipped open a notebook and uncapped a pen. "So," he said, turning to look at each of the room's occupants in turn, "where should we begin?"

* * *

 **Nov 12th addition: In light of Stan Lee's passing, you could also make him the moderator at the end of the fic. Thank you, Mr. Lee, for sharing your creations with us. May you rest in peace.**

 **And that's the end of _Forced Alliance_! I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Once again, please shower Mellia Bee and merry_rf with your appreciation as well. They are a huge reason why this fic is in the shape it's in today. I am so grateful for their time and assistance.**

 **Thanks for all your comments, favorites or notifications! I'd love to know what you thought on your way out!**


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